















Pass ~PZi 7 _. 

Boo k ■ C a. 4 T 

Copyrights?_—_ 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSffi 























He Turned and Looked Full Into the Face of a Tall, 
Spectacled Man in Shiny Serge 






RED GILBERT’S 
FLYING CIRCUS 


BY 

RUSSELL GORDON CARTER 


Author of 

“The Patriot Lad Books/' “The Junior 
Boy Scout Books” 


Illustrated by 
PERCY COUSE 


THE PENN PUBLISHING 
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 
1924 



COPYRIGHT 
1924 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 



Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus 
* 

Manufacturing 

Plant 

Camden, N. J. 


Made in the U. S. A. 


31 1924 


©C1A800310 


•vie | 




INTRODUCTION 

Red Gilbert's Flying Circus is the story of a 
boy with Circus on the mind. Red, who is 
slightly older than Willie, must organize an 
amateur troupe and tour the country, giving per¬ 
formances; nothing less will satisfy him. And it 
doesn’t take him long to convince his four com¬ 
panions that their show will be “ the greatest 
show on earth.” 

Of course there never was a boy like Red; 
there never was a pair of clowns like Creampuff 
and Vaseline or an aggregation of strange 
animals like Silverheels and Duke, King Richard 
and little Mex and those evil-plotting feline 
villains Erick, Fritz and Clarence, not to mention 
that wonder of wonders from darkest Egypt— 
Tut Ankh Amen, Jr. Yes, I admit it, there 
never was a boy like Red; but what schoolboy 
under the mysterious influence of Circus wouldn’t 
like to do what Red did! 

To quote him in one of his most enthusiastic 
moods: 

“Think of a whole summer on the road! 
Think of the days and nights under the great 


4 INTRODUCTION 

white canvas! Think of the fun, the applause 
and the gate receipts! Think of owning a circus 
all your own! I tell you, fellows, we’ll be the 
talk of the town. We’ll make folks sit up and 
take notice of us. And money? Why, it will 
simply roll in, dimes, quarters, halves and silver 
dollars! ” 


The Author. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

He Turned and Looked Full Into the Face of 
a Tall, Spectacled Man in Shiny Serge 
. Frontispiece 

Wasn’t There Something He Could Do? They 
Were Heading Straight for the Worst Part 
of the Stuff. 120 

Red Personally Escorted Grace to a Seat and 
Left Hector Feeling in His Pockets for the 
Price of Admission. 220 


Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus 























Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus 


CHAPTER i 

Never before had the eagle screamed so loud 
in the town of Twin Rapids. Old Judge Mudge 
had the poor bird by the tail and seemed unable 
to let go. “Patriotism! My fellow citizens, 
just what is patriotism? Is it shooting off fire¬ 
crackers or waving a flag? Is it wearing a red, 
white and blue button in the lapel of your coat? 

Is it-” The judge seemed to be full of “ is 

it’s ” that glorious, hot, slam-bang, powder- 
scented, finger-bandaged afternoon. 

The good people of the town who were 
gathered round the bandstand on the green, 
where Judge Mudge was trying his best to make 
our national bird tailless as well as bald, shifted 
uneasily and began to cast furtive and reproach¬ 
ful glances at the chairman of the entertainment 
committee, who had engaged the long-winded, 
strong-fingered judge as the principal speaker. 
They were tired of words, especially “is it’s”; 

7 


8 


RED GILBERTS 


what they wanted was ice-cream—and they 
didn’t want to have to drink it either. 

“ Is patriotism a thing confined to us adults 
alone? ” shouted the judge. 

“ No! ” he cried in answer to his own question. 
“A thousand times no! And another thing, 
patriotism, like charity, should begin at home, 
right here in our own snug little town. Now, 
you boys, what I’m about to say applies specially 
to you-” 

Redfield Gilbert and his four companions, 
Pendleton Clark, Skipton Chase, Fred Nash and 
Paul Harmon, seated right in front of the band¬ 
stand, were suddenly aware that the speaker was 
looking directly at them. And as he continued 
with many a sweeping gesture and short snappy 
rhetorical question they began to move uneasily 
in their places on the hard bench—that is, all 
except Red; it would take more than a judge to 
move him. Each of Red’s companions was wish¬ 
ing that the orator would miss his step on the 
platform in one of his emphatic moments or 
knock the pitcher of water off in one of those fine 
sweeping gestures; each was thinking of the ice¬ 
cream slowly running to milk under the hot sun, 
and they longed to run after it. And all showed 




FLYING CIRCUS 


9 


their thoughts in their faces. Red alone in all 
that great audience seemed interested in the 
judge’s oratory. 

“ Why, when I was a boy,” continued the 
speaker, giving an extra tug at the tail feathers, 
“ we young fellows were patriotic, not only to 
our country, but to our home town as well. We 
did things! We worked for the good of the 
town. And after we’d finished work we played— 
and not until then! ” The judge paused for a 
glass of water, then resumed: 

“ Times have changed. I mind how a certain 
group of boys in this town once started to build 
a public bath-house down by the river-” 

Red’s companions squirmed more than ever. 
The judge had hit them in a tender spot. He 
followed the blow with what he meant to be a 
knockout: 

“ But they couldn’t do it! They couldn’t earn 
enough money even to buy the nails! And,” he 
added with a note of challenge, “ there’s no bath¬ 
house there now, and there never will be if we 
wait for those boys or for any other groups of 
boys in this town to build it! Now when I was 
only knee-high to a-” 

But in just what new and startling way the 




10 


RED GILBERTS 


judge had distinguished himself when he was 
knee-high to something—perhaps a giraffe—was 
left unsaid, for Red Gilbert had risen to his feet 
and with his hand upraised, like a schoolboy who 
at last has found a word that he can spell, was 
waiting for the speaker to recognize him. 

The judge, startled into silence at the boy’s 
daring, was reaching for the water pitcher. All 
whispering had ceased as if by magic. Even the 
leaves overhead were silent and motionless, as if 
eager not to miss a word from a boy who was 
bold enough to interrupt old Judge Mudge on 
the Fourth of July. 

Red’s companions, no longer squirming, were 
looking at him half hopefully, half doubtfully. 
What in the world was Red up to now? 

“ Well, my boy? ” said the judge in a voice 
that had discouraged many a budding lawyer. 

But Red was as cool as the ice in the pitcher. 
“ Sir,” he replied in a tone that combined respect 
for age with the confidence of youth, “ sir, as the 
whole town knows, you are absolutely right about 
that bath-house; we didn’t make much of a stab 
at it. I just want to say, though, that by the end 
of the summer—that is to say, before high school 
opens in the fall—I and my four companions will 


FLYING CIRCUS 11 

have earned enough money to build a bath-house 
that is modern, first-class and thoroughly a credit 
to the town and to ourselves. In fact,” he added 
with bland shrewdness, “ we’ll start making our 
plans this afternoon as soon as we’ve had our ice¬ 
cream.” 

“ That’s the stuff! ” cried a dozen voices— 
meaning the ice-cream of course. 

Judge Mudge stood as still as a statue while 
Red sat down. Then, “ I like your spirit! ” he 
said. “ And for every dollar you boys earn I’ll 
add another to it! ” 

Then after one final “ is it,” followed swiftly 
by a definite “ it is,” he let go the tail feathers, 
and the whole assembly made a noisy rush for 
the ice-cream, which soon was melting in the 
place where all good ice-cream should melt. 

Red’s companions were nothing if not abrupt. 
When they had melted three dishes of cream 
apiece, and there was nothing left but ice, rock 
salt and salt water, they made a rush for him. 
Having licked their spoons, they were ready to 
lick their leader. Fred and Paul caught him 
round the neck and bore him to the ground. 
Pendleton sat on his legs. Skipton sat on his 
chest—that is, on Red’s chest. 


12 


BED GILBERTS 


“ Are you crazy, Red? ” demanded Skip ton 
from the top of Red’s wish-bone. 

“ No, but I’m afraid you birds are,” replied 
Red. 

“ What did you mean by saying those things 
to the judge? ” continued Skipton. “ Do you 
realize that now we’ll have to spend the summer 
working like slaves? We can’t back out now; 
we’d be the laughing stock of the town! A 
whole summer ruined! You’re some boy orator, 
I’ll say!” 

“ Let me up,” replied Red, grinning. 

Red Gilbert had a way about him that was 
hard to resist. Skipton got reluctantly from his 
companion’s chest. Pendleton let go his legs, 
and Fred and Paul yanked their leader to his 
feet. Thereupon Red adjusted his necktie, 
brushed his mop of sunburned hair back where it 
belonged, nodded pleasantly to one or two in¬ 
terested spectators and, sitting down on a con¬ 
venient bench, took out his note-book and began 
to write. 

For perhaps three minutes his companions 
watched him in doubtful and somewhat indignant 
silence. 

“ Now, Skip,” he said, looking up at last, 


FLYING CIRCUS 13 

" listen carefully and you’ll hear how I’ve ruined 
our summer vacation. You own a mouse-colored 
mule named Silverheels, I believe.” 

Skip nodded and wanted to know what a 
mouse-colored mule had to do with it. 

Red only glanced first at his note-book and 
then at Pendleton. “ And you, Pen, own three 
apparently worthless cats—Erick, Fritz and 
Clarence, I think you call them—when you’re not 
calling them something not so nice.” 

Of course Pendleton wanted to know what his 
cats had to do with it. 

But Red only glanced again at his note-book 
and then up at Fred. “ And you, Fred, own a 
Mexican hairless hound that you call Mex. Am 
I right? Good.” 

Fred was quite as curious as Skip and Pen and 
perhaps a little less polite, but once more Red 
consulted his note-book and then turned to Paul. 
“ You, Paul,” he said, “ are the proud possessor 
of King Richard the Lion Hearted, a peach of a 
Saint Bernard, and also of two white mice, 
Bonnie Prince Charley and Little Lord Faunt- 
leroy, though how you tell ’em apart is more than 
I can say.” 

“ Red, are you crazy? ” demanded Paul. 


u 


RED GILBERTS 


But Red only smiled in a mysterious way that 
he had. “And'I,” he continued, “own an old 
spring wagon and a big black horse named Duke, 
not to mention my pearl gray Egyptian talking 
parrot, Tut Ankh Amen, Jr., whose great-great¬ 
grandfather’s grave was robbed about a year 
ago.” He paused and, putting the note-book 
back into his pocket, began to whistle in an un¬ 
concerned way. 

“ Red,” demanded his companions, looking as 
if they were planning another rush, “ what in the 
name of mud are you driving at? ” 

“ Can’t you guess? ” inquired Red in astonish¬ 
ment. 

“ No, we can’t!” 

“ Well, then I’ll have to tell you. We’ll take 
my spring wagon and all the aforementioned 
creatures—Duke, the horse, Erick, Fritz, and 
Clarence, the cats-” 

“ Never mind the names,” said Paul impa¬ 
tiently. 

“ Very well, we’ll take the aforementioned 
creatures, organize ourselves into a flying circus 
and tour the county, giving performances. 
Wait a minute! ” he cautioned them, for they had 
all begun to speak at once. “We can do it and 



FLYING CIRCUS 


15 


make money at it. I’ve had the idea in mind for 
at least a month. A few days of rehearsal and 
we’ll be fit to start. We can scare up a couple 
of tents easily enough, and I’ll have some hand 
bills printed. Fellows, I tell you it’s a great 
stunt! ” 

Then Red really became enthusiastic. “ Think 
of a whole summer on the road! Think of the 
days and nights under the great white canvas! 
Think of the fun, the applause and the gate 
receipts! Think of owning a circus all your 
own! I tell you, fellows, we’ll be the talk of the 
town. We’ll make folks sit up and take notice 
of us. And money? Why, it will simply roll 
in, dimes, quarters, halves and silver dollars! 
Already I can see that bath-house down by the 
river. Already I can read the sign above the 
door—big letters cut into the concrete: f Erected 
in the year of our Lord 1924 by P. Harmon, F. 
Nash, S. Chase, P. Clark and R. Gilbert ’! ” 

Red stopped only for lack of breath, and from 
that moment the bunch were with him. 

“ Red,” said Skip, “ do you really mean it? ” 

“ Of course I do! ” 

“ But how about initial expenses? ” asked Pen 
—he had flunked his bookkeeping course at high 


16 RED GILBERTS 

school, but you couldn’t keep him from using 
some of the words that had helped to spoil his 
examination paper. 

“Initial expenses?” repeated Red. “He 
means, fellows, how are we going to get started. 
Simple enough! I’ve got a little saved, and each 
of you has a little—if that’s not enough, I’ll go to 
Judge Mudge and borrow something in advance 
from him.” 

Now right there you have Red Gilbert in a 
nutshell. If any one of his four companions 
could have mustered enough nerve to go to the 
rich judge at all for such a purpose, he would 
have said: “ I’ll try to borrow something.” But 
Red seldom was doubtful about a thing; he had 
the self-assurance of a bantam rooster. 

“ Red,” said Paul, “ I guess you win. I guess 
it’s a good stunt all right, and I guess there’ll be 
a bath-house down by the river.” 

“ How do the rest of you fellows feel? ” asked 
Red when Paul had finished guessing. 

“ I’ll bank on you every time,” said Pen. 
“ Let’s go! ” 

“ Yes, let’s get started! ” exclaimed Fred and 
Skip. 

“ Very good,” said Red. “ Meet at my house 


FLYING CIRCUS 17 

to-night right after supper, and we’ll draw up 
plans.” 

What a night that was for Twin Rapids! Sky 
rockets, Roman candles, pinwheels, firecrackers, 
singed eyelashes, burnt whiskers, powder stains 
on white dresses, a blazing barn or two, and small 
boys crying with the stomachache—almost as 
much fun as a circus! And in the midst of it 
five high school lads were in Red Gilbert’s room 
planning a circus that was to be more fun than 
a barrel full of monkeys all in dress suits! 

“ Now,” said Red, “ first of all, what shall we 
call ourselves? ” 

“ Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus,” replied Pen, 
and the others added, “ Good enough! ” 

“ Very well,” replied Red modestly. “ When 
you fly, fly high. Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus, 
the greatest show on earth—you have to add 
that, or folks won’t think they’re getting their 
money’s worth. Now for the clowns—we’ll need 
two.” 

“ Fred and Paul,” said Skip promptly. 
“ They won’t need to practice much.” 

That remark almost broke up the meeting, but 
when Mrs. Gilbert in the room below had rapped 
three times on the ceiling, and the smoke of battle 


18 


RED GILBERTS 


had blown off, Fred and Paul were the official 
clowns—Creampuff and Vaseline respectively. 

“ Now somebody/' continued Red, “ will have 
to keep the books—an important job, for we'll 
probably handle a good deal of money. My vote 
is for Pen. He flunked his course at high, and 
this will be good practice for his make-up exam 
in the fall.” 

“ All right,” said Pen. “ I’ll get a ledger and 
begin the debit and credit sheet to-morrow.” 

“ I'm glad that’s settled without a row,” said 
Red. “ Now for a fortune teller in the side 
tent.” 

“ How about you for that, Red? ” suggested 
Paul. 

“No, I'll be needed in the big tent. Skip can 
do it, though, can’t you, Skip? It’s simple 
enough. Just trace out the lines on their palms. 
Tell the men you see good business ahead—don’t 
tell ’em how far ahead, though. Tell the girls 
you see a light man and a dark man, and that 
they’ll be happy with the one and not with the 
other. But don’t tell ’em which is which, unless 
you want to fight somebody. If a mother comes 
wdh her little boy, tell her the kid will surely be 
President if he always does what his mother says 


FLYING CIRCUS 


19 


and keeps away from the bad boys down by the 
gas house. If the kid comes alone, tell him the 
next time he climbs for a bird’s nest he’ll fall and 
hurt himself. You know how to do it, Skip; use 
your imagination and don’t be too definite.” 

“ Sure,” said Skip. “ It’s a lot like writing an 
exam paper in English when you haven’t read the 
books.” 

“ You’ll do,” said Red. “ Now for our itiner¬ 
ary.” 

“ Our what? ” inquired Pen, wondering 
vaguely whether he had met the word before in 
his bookkeeping course. 

“ Our route, the towns we’re going to show 
at.” Red took a map from his desk, and the 
boys bent over it. 

“ How about Clearwater? ” suggested Fred. 

“ Won’t do at all,” Red replied. “ It’s too 
close to Twin Rapids. We want to go where 
folks don’t know us. Now here’s Sleepy Bend— 
suppose we open there.” 

“ Never heard of the place,” said Paul. 

“ Neither did I,” replied Red, “ but it’s a good 
way from here, and it’s a fair-size town on the 
map. From there we can swing south through 
Dirksville, Meadowbrook, Raven Rock and so 


20 


RED GILBERT 


on, reaching Twin Rapids, say, the first of Sep¬ 
tember, where we’ll give one big wind-up per¬ 
formance.” 

“ Sounds all right,” said Paul. 

“ Now for the stunts we’re to pull,” said Red. 
“ Listen to this-” 

It was long after the last Roman candle had 
spit in the wrong direction and the last fire¬ 
cracker had exploded prematurely that the boys 
finally left Red Gilbert’s house and, with circus 
on the mind and excuses on their lips, set 
off toward their own. And the following morn¬ 
ing they started to turn their houses upside down 
to find such necessary articles as calico to 
make clowns’ pants, flowing silk or muslin for 
the fortune teller’s robes, vari-colored ribbons 
and rosettes for Duke and Silverheels, green felt 
to make a double blanket for Mex, the hairless 
hound, and, oh, a hundred and one other things! 



CHAPTER II 


That afternoon while sewing-machines were 
singing industriously and needles in the hands of 
pretty sisters and cousins were pulling spools and 
spools of thread through yards and yards of 
giddy cloth, Red Gilbert paid his first visit to the 
home of old Judge Mudge. Except on the 
Fourth of July the judge was really a pleasant 
and interesting neighbor; we all have our faults, 
as the cat said when it drank the baby’s milk, 
and the judge’s main fault after all was a virtue. 
He loved his country, he loved his home town, to 
a degree that was almost fanatic. 

“ How do you do, sir? ” he said to Red at the 
door. “ Come right in. Yes, I know you—I’d 
never forget a face like yours.” 

Red assumed for his own sake that his host had 
uttered a compliment and followed him into the 
parlor. Then Red showed his tact and sound 
common sense. He praised the judge’s speech, 
moderately yet sincerely; he spoke of his brother, 
who had served with the A. E. F., and on being 
questioned he spoke of his own ambition to enter 
21 


22 


BED GILBERTS 


the diplomatic service—a remark by the way that 
won the judge’s heart. 

Finally as the conversation swung back to 
home affairs Red spoke of the Flying Circus and 
of its ultimate purpose. 

“ I see,” said Judge Mudge; “ you believe with 
Barnum that there’s one bom every minute.” 

“ Oh, much oftener than that,” replied Red, 
and the judge’s eyes sparkled. 

“ It sounds fair enough,” he said. “ Have 
you considered expenses? ” 

“ That,” replied Red, “ is the secondary object 
of my visit. I’d like your advice, sir.” 

And he got it—lots and lots of it! Moreover, 
he got the thing he had wanted from the start. 
To make a long story short, when Red finally 
left the judge’s house he carried with him a check 
for one hundred dollars—a loan that he had 
agreed to pay back with interest at the end of 
three months. 

“ Fellows,” he said that night in his room, 
where they were all gathered, “ we’re all set. 
Judge Mudge has advanced us one hundred dol¬ 
lars.” He handed the check to Pen. “ Here 
you are, Pen; have it cashed and enter the 
amount under credit.” 


FLYING CIRCUS 


23 


“Red, you pirate!” exclaimed Skip. “Do 
you mean to say you kidded the judge into giv¬ 
ing us that amount? ” 

“ Not at all,” replied Red. “ It was a plain 
business deal, and I didn’t say a single word to 
him that I didn’t believe, myself. Besides,” he 
added with dignity, “ the money is not a gift but 
a loan. Get that, a loan! We’ve got to make 
good now; if we don’t, I’m a gone goose! ” 

“ Jinks! ” said Fred softly. “ I wouldn’t have 
dared! ” 

“ Now how are things going? ” inquired Red. 

“ Good,” replied his companions. 

“ How are the animals? ” 

“ Erick is sick,” replied Pendleton. “ He’s 
been eating grass all day.” 

“ He’ll be able to eat nails by the end of the 
summer,” said Fred. 

“ Say, Red,” said Pen with a worried look, “ I 
think we’re making a mistake in taking those 
cats.” 

“ Why? ” 

“Well, they’re mischief-makers! They’re 
always into something.” Pen made a wry face. 
“ I don’t like cats. I hope Erick dies.” 

“ But cats are always funny,” replied Red. 


24 


RED GILBERTS 


“ That’s the trouble, they’re too funny. All 
right, we’ll take 'em along, but you just wait and 
see what they do. I think Erick got sick on pur¬ 
pose.” 

“ Well, we’ll cure him,” said Paul. “ Other¬ 
wise there’ll be a catastrophe-” which shows 

that Red chose well when he picked Paul to be a 
clown. 

Three sharp raps on the ceiling and Skip let 
go of Paul’s hair; then the meeting relapsed into 
order again. 

Three days later Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus 
was ready to fly. It was a bright hot morning, 
and the whole town was wide awake and on hand. 
At the northern end in the middle of the road 
stood Duke and Silverheels hitched to the big 
spring wagon, which now was covered with a 
huge brown canvas top so that it looked like a 
prairie schooner; behind was hitched a small two¬ 
wheeled trailer heaped high with properties. In¬ 
side the spring wagon were more properties, not 
to mention food for the animals and for the other 
performers. 

On the front seat, handsome and dignified, sat 
King Richard; now and then he looked down in 
a kindly, fatherly way at the little Mexican hair- 



FLYING CIRCUS 25 

less hound, which in spite of a green felt double 
blanket and the hot July sun was shivering as if 
he had had nothing to eat but ice-cream and jelly 
all his life. The two dogs were already close 
friends, the one so big and strong and with so 
much warm flowing hair, the other so little and 
helpless and naked. Behind them under the 
canvas, sullen and doubtless plotting revenge, 
were the three cats. Erick had so far recovered 
from his slight indisposition—if indeed he had 
been sick at all—as to prefer stolen milk to grass; 
only that morning Mrs. Clark had caught him in 
the pantry with his face and whiskers all white 
and moist. Circumstantial evidence only of 
course, but many a cat has been drowned on less. 
Now Erick was telling Fritz and Clarence all 
about it. 

On top of the trailer, superintending the boys 
who were adjusting the last straps and knots, sat 
Tut Ankh Amen, Jr. Now and then he turned 
his bright eyes from the poor slaves on the 
ground to Bonnie Prince Charley and Little 
Lord Fauntleroy, who were chasing their tails in 
their wire cage, which hung near the top of the 
hood on the spring wagon. Egyptian parrots 
are not carnivorous, but from the way Tut was 


26 RED GILBERTS 

eyeing the royal mice no one would have thought 
so. 

The crowd had pressed closer. Mr. Cleaves 
and Mr. Cowpens, the town’s rival butchers, were 
marking off imaginary cuts on Silverheels’ flank, 
and the mule, with ears laid back, was waiting 
only for a chance to do a little marking, himself. 

“ Right there,” said Cleaves, pointing, “ that’s 
where you find the best steak on a mule or a boss 
either.” 

Silverheels’ ears went back a little farther, and 
the whites of his eyes showed largely. It’s rather 
annoying to hear anyone talk of cutting steaks 
from you. 

“ It’s a great outfit, huh, Mr. Stringer? ” said 
a small boy. “ Wisht I could go! ” 

Stringer, who happened to be the meanest 
grocer in town, only shook his head and looked 
at Mr. McCann, who was a close second. “ Too 
bad they’re not takin’ more provisions,” he said. 

“ Too bad,” echoed McCann. 

“Tut, tut, tut!” said the parrot at that 
moment, and everybody laughed except the 
grocers. 

“ Now they’re all ready! ” someone shouted. 

Red Gilbert climbed into the driver’s seat be- 


FLYING CIRCUS 


27 


side little Mex and King Richard. “ All right 
back there? ” he shouted. 

“ All right,” replied Skip. 

“ Giddap, Duke! Giddap, Silverheels! ” 

Wheels and harness creaked. The wagon 
lurched forward; the trailer jerked after it. Tut 
Ankh Amen, Jr., lost his balance and sat down 
and then rose again with a flash of his bright 
eyes at the white mice and with many an indig¬ 
nant “ Tut! ” You might have thought the mice 
had pushed him. Fred and Paul followed on 
foot at either side of the trailer; Skip and Pen 
took their places behind. 

“Good-by, boys!” called a score of voices. 
“ Take good care of yourselves. Good-by! 
Good luck! ” 

Red leaned over the side and waved his hand, 
and would you believe it, the faces of half a dozen 
girls turned crimson for absolutely no reason at 
all! 

“ Well,” said Skip, “ it’s a pretty good send- 
off, don’t you think? ” 

“ Great! ” replied Pen. “ Say, did you notice 
Grace Overton’s face when Red waved? ” 

“ Did I notice it? ” replied Skip. “ Ask me if 
I noticed the sun! But for that matter, why 


28 RED GILBERTS 

pick on poor Grace? There were a dozen 
others! ” 

“ Grace’s father,” said Pen, grinning, “ is in 
the diplomatic service.” 

“ What’s that got to do with it? ” 

“ Oh, nothing, I guess.” 

About a mile outside the town limits Red 
halted in the shade at the top of a long hill, and 
the boys examined straps and ropes again to 
make sure that everything was in good shape. 

“ Did we make a good showing? ” Red asked. 

“ I’ll say we did! ” replied Fred. 

“ Say, Red,” said Pen with a wink at Skip, 
“ there’s at least one girl in town who’ll feel bad 
if we don’t make a success of this show.” 

“ Is there? ” inquired Red innocently. 

Pen winked again at Skip, but Red apparently 
was thinking of other things; anyway he wasn’t 
a bit interested. At last he went to the trailer, 
fastened a thong to Tut’s foot and tied the other 
end to a strap on top. “ I’d hate to lose you, 
Tut,” he said. “ There now, stop your winking; 
don’t you know it’s bad manners? Any fool can 
wink!” 

Pen coughed behind his hand, and Red looked 
up at him innocently. “ Isn’t it funny how a 


FLYING CIRCUS 29 

bird will wink sometimes? I suppose it’s the 
sunlight.” 

“ Probably,” replied Pen, and Skip grinned. 
You had to be more than wide awake to “ put one 
over ” on Red Gilbert. 

“ Well, let’s all get aboard now,” said Red. 
“ It’s all down-hill to that stream there, and we 
may as well ride when we can.” 

He climbed into the driver’s seat again. Skip 
and Pen got into the back of the spring wagon 
and, pushing the cats aside, sat down. Fred and 
Paul climbed aboard the trailer, where they sat 
on either side of Tut, with arms folded across 
their chests, like artillerymen on a caisson. 

“ Giddap! ” said Red, and they were on their 
way toward the narrow wooden bridge at the foot 
of the hill. 

Perhaps it was Fate that a moment later sent a 
big horsefly skimming through the air right at 
poor old Silverheels; and perhaps Fate was 
familiar with the big mule’s state of mind at that 
moment. At any rate the fly struck him right 
on the flank at the precise spot where Mr. Cleaves 
had contemplated cutting a few pounds of steak. 
Silverheels may have been thinking of sharp 
knives when the horsefly sat down. 


30 


RED GILBERTS 


The big mule stopped short and shivered all 
over. Deeper and deeper went the point of that 
butcher knife! Back went his ears; out came the 
whites of his eyes. Then Red spied the fly and 
made a brush at it with his whip. But it was too 
late. Silverheels shot forward and dragged 
Duke with him. 

“ Whoa! ” cried Red, leaning back on the lines. 
“ Whoa! Whoa! ” 

Silverheels thought otherwise, and in an 
instant he had the black horse thinking the same 
way. Down the long slope they rushed neck and 
neck. Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! ” 

“ Hey! ” cried Skip. “ Red, Red, what’s the 
matter? ” 

“ E-e-e-yo-w-w-o-o! ” wailed the three cats, all 
of them cowards at heart. 

“ Squeak—squeak! ” came from the royal mice. 

And back on the trailer Fred and Paul with 
the breath fairly jolted out of them were clinging 
to the baggage like monkeys to a palm tree in a 
hurricane. 

“ Tut—tut-” began the parrot and then 

was abruptly silent as he bounced in the air and 
landed flat on his back. 

“ Red! ” cried Pen as his head struck against 



FLYING CIRCUS 


31 


the bottom of the mouse cage. “ What-” 

And then he changed his tune as his hand came 
down somewhere in the midst of the three cats. 

Out in front sat Red with arms outstretched 
and head back. King Richard looked up at him 
in mild wonder. Little Mex, trembling twice as 
hard now, snuggled closer to his big companion. 

“ Whoa! ” cried Red and then bounced a foot 
as the front wheels struck a rock. 

But Silverheels would not listen, and Duke 
would not heed. And there below lay the little 
bridge scarcely two feet wider than the flying, 
jolting, lumbering, bumping wagon! 


CHAPTER III 


Red summoned every ounce of strength in his 
arms and back and shoulders. He braced his 
feet and strained till his bones threatened to pop 
through his skin. And still the mule and the 
horse raced down-hill as if a hundred butchers 
with a hundred sharp gleaming knives were hot 
on the trail. 

Clatter! The off front wheel struck a stone. 
E-e-eak! Squeak! The wagon lurched toward 
the ditch at the left and then lurched back again. 
A narrow squeak! 

Poor Red, stretched back as he was,—as if he 
were half-way through a handspring—saw the 
bridge fairly rushing toward him. There were 
hand-rails on either side, waiting patiently to rip 
one or two wheels off, or be ripped off, them¬ 
selves. He clenched his teeth. If the wagon 
should lurch between the rails as it had lurched 
a moment before—good-night, nurse! Tell 
Grace my last thoughts were of her! 

But the next moment Red wasn’t thinking of 
Grace as he straightened a bit and leaned now to 
32 


RED GILBERT 


33 


the right, now to the left. He was crossing the 
bridge before he came to it, measuring with 
his eye just the amount of clearance on either 
side. 

Thirty yards from the structure he eased up a 
little more on the reins. Twenty yards and he 
was holding them in his left hand and grasping 
the whip in his right. Ten yards and he leaned 
forward and let Silverheels have it Where the 
butcher marked the steak. The mule leaped like 
an arrow from the bow, and Duke leaped with 
him, for Red had tickled him, too, almost in the 
same second. 

A straight line, said Euclid in the days when 
there were no taxicabs, is the shortest distance 
between two points. Silverheels knew it; Duke 
knew it—and how they did run to get away from 
those butcher knives! It wouldn’t do to swerve, 
no not an inch! Down that hill they ran like 
soup down the front of a dress shirt. 

Bang! 

Red, Skip, Pen and all the animals rose a foot 
in the air as the wagon struck the first plank. 

Bing! Fred, Paul and the mummied king’s 
great-great-grandson jounced two feet upward 
as the trailer followed. 


34 


RED GILBERTS, 


Then- 

Clatter, clatter! Clatter, clatter! Clatter, 
clatter! As the planks flashed past below the 
spinning, bouncing wheels Red breathed a little 
easier. Midway across the little bridge he 
smiled. A moment later he gave a shout of 
triumph. They were on the dirt again with a 
long up-hill stretch ahead. 

It was a discouraging outlook—for the mule. 
They might butcher him then and there, but he 
wouldn’t take any such hill as that on high! He 
slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Then Red 
leaned back on the reins, and Duke and Silver- 
heels came to a full stop. 

In a second Red was on the road and had the 
bridles, one in either hand. “ Silverheels,” he 
said, “ I’m ashamed of you! To think of a big 
grown-up mule like you trying to run away! 
Don’t you know what happened to Toby Tyler 
when he ran away with the circus? ” 

Whether the mule knew or not, he hung his 
head. Then Red’s teeth flashed in a grin as he 
caught sight of Fred and Paul getting stiffly 
down from the trailer. Covered with fine white 
dust from head to foot, they certainly looked like 
clowns at that moment. And poor Tut looked 



FLYING CIRCUS 35 

more like the dove of peace than like a royal 
Egyptian parrot. 

“ Hello, you birds,” said Red, “ how did you 
enjoy the ride? ” 

Fred and Paul both sneezed at once, and Tut 
stood on one leg and scratched his head as if to 
think of the proper reply. Then Pen and Skip 
dropped off the back of the spring wagon, wide- 
eyed and covered with dust. 

“What—what happened, Red?” Skip asked 
shakily. “Did—did the nags run away?” 

“ Did—kachoo—we cross that—that bridge? ” 
demanded Fred. 

“ Yes, I think we did,” replied Red with par¬ 
donable pride. “ See, there’s our tracks—about 
four inches to spare on either side.” 

“ Red,” said Pen, “ you could drive a camel 
through the eye of a needle! Just look at those 
tracks, fellows—as straight as an arrow all the 
way! ” 

“ How did the animals stand the voyage? ” 
inquired Red. 

“ I think Erick is sick again,” said Skip. 
“ Look at him! ” 

“ Seasick probably,” replied Pen. 

“ Seasick,” repeated Tut, shaking the dust out 


36 RED GILBERTS 

of his feathers. “ Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of 
ink!” 

“ What we need is water, not ink,” said Red. 
Then turning to Fred and Paul: “You two 
clowns may wash your make-up off now. The 
show’s over.” 

Soon the boys were down by the brook, drink¬ 
ing and washing. King Richard and Mex curled 
up together on the front seat and went to sleep. 
The white mice continued their favorite sport of 
chasing their tails; and the three cats jumped 
down and looked as if they wanted to go home 
but didn’t know the way—at least Fritz and 
Clarence looked as if they did. Erick looked as 
^ if he didn’t care whether school kept or not. Tut 
stuck to his post on the trailer and kept his bright 
eyes fixed on Erick. “Seasick!” he repeated. 
“ Poor Noah! ” 

At the end of a quarter of an hour the Flying 
Circus was on the way again. This time Skip 
was in the driver’s seat, and Red walked behind 
with Pen. At noon they stopped for lunch be¬ 
side a stream. First they fed the animals—that 
was Red’s rule, the poor creatures should always 
feed first. 

“ It’s like the army,” he explained, remember- 


FLYING CIRCUS 


37 


ing some of the things his brother had told him; 
“ and the way to keep an army happy is to keep 
’em fed.” 

“We ought to reach Sleepy Bend soon,” sug¬ 
gested Fred. 

Red consulted his map. “ In another hour, I 
think.” 

Suddenly Skip’s mouth fell open; but he didn’t 
bite the sandwich he had just taken from the 
box, though the odds had been all in favor of 
that act. He blinked twice. Then, “ Doggone 
the doggone luck! ” he exclaimed. 

King Richard roused and looked at him curi¬ 
ously. Fred and Paul regarded him with as¬ 
tonishment and wondered just what misfortune 
had overtaken their fortune teller. 

“What’s the matter, Skippy?” inquired 
Red. 

“ We’ve forgotten them! ” exclaimed Skip. 

“ Forgotten what? ” 

“ The handbills,” replied Skip. “ The most 
important piece of property of all! ” 

“ Well, I’m a dried herring! ” exclaimed Pen. 
“ Red, I meant to remind you, but we were all so 
busy-” 

Red laughed easily and, getting up, went to the 



38 


RED GILBERTS 


wagon. He returned directly with a big bundle 
of papers. “ Bite the neck of that sandwich, 
Skip, ,, he said; “it’s still alive. Then have a 
look at these.” 

But in his relief Skip put the sandwich down 
and with the others went to Red's side as their 
leader spread the papers out on the grass. 

“ What do you think of them? ” Red inquired. 
“ Aren’t they the cat’s upper lip? ” 

“Well, I’ll be cow-kicked!” exclaimed Skip. 
“ Red, you old fox! ” 

There were the handbills, hundreds of them, 
just as Red had had them printed. There were 
three kinds. The first and largest kind showed a 
long winding train of circus wagons coming over 
a hill; there were at least twenty wagons drawn 
by six horses each, and in each wagon were lions, 
tigers, giraffes, bears, elephants, leopards, 
panthers, antelopes, foxes and in fact almost 
every kind of beast that ever ate raw meat on the 
end of a pitchfork. 

The second batch showed two clowns playing 
marbles in a sawdust ring with a big, broad- 
shouldered man in a dress suit standing on a keg, 
cracking a whip over their heads—the inference 
was that the statuesque figure was Red, himself. 


FLYING CIRCUS 39 

though he lacked Red’s smile and easy-going 
manner. 

The third batch contained all printed matter. 
Skip grinned as he read one of the bills: 

RED GILBERT’S FLYING CIRCUS 

The Greatest Show on Earth! 

Feats of Strength Feats of Skill 

Come and be Convinced! 

Greatest variety of strange animals in the universe 
They hop! They crawl! They fly! 

Creampuff and Vaseline 

The funniest clowns that ever swung a slapstick 
Laugh! Laugh! Laugh! 

Imported Mexican Dog that Shivers 

SPECIAL FEATURE 
Tut Ankh Amen’s Parrot 
Imported from Egypt at great 
expense. He’s 5,000 years old. 

Plenty old enough to talk! 

Come and listen to his words 
of wisdom! 

Admission $.25: Children half price. 

Have your fortune told in the side tent. 

“Red Gilbert, you long-legged eel!” cried 
Skip. “ These are great! Already I can see 


40 


RED GILBERTS 


the people of Sleepy Bend standing wide of eyes 
and wide of mouth looking at them! ” 

“ But aren’t they a bit exaggerated? ” asked 
Pen. 

“ That’s a fair question,” replied Red. “ I’m 
inclined to say yes and no—as my young cousin 
said when his mother asked him whether he liked 
lemon pie; the kid always threw the crust away. 
As circus posters run, these are really not much 
of an exaggeration.” 

“ Yes, that’s so,” said Skip and turned to pick 
up his sandwich. “Why, darn my breeches!” 
he exclaimed. “ Where’s the meat that was in 
my sandwich? ” 

Where was it indeed? That was another fair 
question. It wasn’t between the mangled slices 
of bread; nor was it anywhere on the ground near 
by. But there, trying his claws on a sapling, was 
Erick, and he was licking his whiskers in a satis¬ 
fied but altogether suspicious way. Sick? Not 
at all—not when there was meat around! 

“Thieving cat!” cried Skip. 

“ Go ahead and brain him! ” said Pen angrily. 
“ Red, I told you we made a mistake in bringing 
those three cats.” 

“ The Three Musketeers had their faults,” re- 


FLYING CIRCUS 41 

plied Red, “ but they had their virtues too. Next 
time hold on to your sandwich. Skip.” 

But Skip only grunted with disgust, and Pen 
glared at his pretty pet. 

Presently the Flying Circus was on the way 
again. Silverheels had learned his lesson and 
was content to walk like any self-respecting mule, 
especially since the way was almost entirely up¬ 
hill. At half-past two the outfit reached Sleepy 
Bend. 

But there was something strange about the 
town—something that caused even Red to frown 
thoughtfully as they rode down through the main 
street. There were not more than twenty or 
twenty-five houses in the place, and many of them 
were ramshackle affairs with shutters hanging 
awry and with panes of glass missing from the 
windows. No children were playing in the 
streets; no cattle were stirring in any of the barn¬ 
yards; no smoke rose from any of the tottering 
chimneys. The village seemed quite deserted. 

“ My land,” said Paul, “ this place makes me 
feel all queer and creepy. Look at the houses; 
every one of ’em’s empty! ” 

“ The deserted village,” muttered Fred and 
then raised his voice in a shout. 


42 


RED GILBERTS 


Only the echoes answered him. 

“ Sleepy Bend,” muttered Skip. “ It ought 
to be Dead Man’s Gulch! ” 

The wagon halted in front of what once had 
been a fine village green, and Red laughed in a 
peculiar way. “ Fellows,” he said, “ it looks as 
if they’d all seen us coming. What do you make 
of it, Pen? ” 

At that moment a little boy and girl ap¬ 
peared as if by magic round the corner of the old 
weather-worn church; following them were a 
man and woman, evidently the parents. 

“ Ma! ” cried the boy. “Here’s the circus 
come to town at last. Cracky! Look at the lion 
on the front seat! ” 

King Richard drew hin self erect in response 
to the compliment. 

“ And, oo-o-o, see the pretty bird! ” exclaimed 
the little girl, and Tut at once began to plume his 
feathers. 

The man and woman came close to the wagon. 
“ How are ye? ” he greeted them. 

“ Good-day,” replied Red. “ Sleepy Bend is 
a bit sleepy to-day. Where’s all the people? ” 

“ Gone,” replied the man as if the word an¬ 
swered everything. 


FLYING CIRCUS 43 

“ Gone where? ” inquired Red. 

“ To the cities mostly,” was the reply. “ Me 
an’ my wife an’ two youngsters is all that’s left. 
Everybody else went soon after the scissor fac¬ 
tory closed down some years ago. Guess we’ll 
be a-goin’, too, right soon. There’s no future for 
a man in a town like this.” 

“ Hum,” said Red, glancing about at the poor 
skeleton of a village, “ I shouldn’t think there 
would be.” 

“ Was ye a-goin’ to give a show here? ” asked 
the woman with a slow smile. 

“ We were planning to,” replied Red. 

“ Real clowns an’ lions and tigers? ” exclaimed 
the little boy, clapping his hands. “ Molly an’ 
me’s been wishin’ all year fer a circus, huh, 
Molly? ” 

The little girl jerked her head back and forth 
in a way to signify assent. Maybe there was 
something about her golden curls that reminded 
Red of Grace Overton; or maybe for no defin¬ 
able reason at all he experienced at that instant 
one of those great moments which come only to 
great minds. At any rate he went to the wagon 
and from the pile of handbills drew forth one of 
each kind. In a few minutes he had tacked them 


44 


RED GILBERT 


in conspicuous places—one on an old fence, one 
on the side of a house, and one on an old street 
sign. 

“ What’s the idea, Red? ” asked Pen. 

“ Why, we’re going to put on our first show,” 
replied Red, as if in astonishment. 

“ Red, are you crazy? ” demanded his four 
companions. “ You don’t mean to say you’d set 
up the tents and give a show for the sake of four 
spectators, do you? ” 

“ Why not? ” replied Red. 
schedule, isn’t it? ” 


“ It’s on our 


CHAPTER IV 


Red’s companions looked at one another and 
groaned, but he drew them aside. “ Listen, fel¬ 
lows,” he said earnestly, “ how can we disappoint 
those two poor little kids? Suppose you were 
kids and lived in a place like this, how would you 
feel if a circus came to town and didn’t stop? 
No, fellows, we’ve got to give a performance, 
that’s all!” 

“ But, Red,” said Skip, “ think of the time 
wasted! We’re not a charity circus! ” 

“ Our time won’t be wasted,” replied Red 
emphatically. “ In the first place we need the 
practice. In the second place, remember this: 
when we reach Dirksville and some of the other 
distant places on our itinerary—that is to say, on 
our route, Pen—we can advertise that the whole 
town of Sleepy Bend turned out to see us play! 
The whole town, mind you, every man, woman 
and child! ” 

The four were silent, and Red walked back 
to the sole inhabitants. “ Molly,” he said with a 
bright, friendly smile, “ since the scissor factory 

45 


46 


RED GILBERTS 


closed down you and your brother haven’t had 
much of a chance to cut up, have you? Well, 
to-day’s your day. Be on hand in, say, an hour 
and you’ll see the funniest clowns on earth and 
the strangest animals in all the world including 
Sleepy Bend. And now, Molly, tell me where 
you got such pretty curls.” 

“ They grew,” replied Molly honestly enough. 

“ Good,” said Red; “ I thought so. And 
what’s your brother’s name? ” 

“ Richard—his last name is Blake. That’s 
mine, too.” 

“ Oh, is that so? Funny, I thought his name 
was Dick.” 

“ See here,” said the man at that moment, 
“ your sign says admission, twenty-five cents. 
We can’t afford-” 

But Red waved his hand grandly. “ A benefit 
performance. Cost you nothing!” 

“ Well, I’m a cucumber,” muttered Pen. 

Whether Pen was a cucumber or only a plain 
pickle, he did his share in unloading the wagon 
and setting up the tents on the village green. 
Like Fred and Paul and Skip, he didn’t put 
much enthusiasm into the work at first, but Red 
was all eagerness and excitement, and while he 



FLYING CIRCUS 47 

was in that mood it was hard not to share his 
feelings; soon everyone was working like bees at 
the busy season. And soon the properties were 
in place. Then the actors put on their war paint. 
And long before they were ready the Blake fam¬ 
ily—every man, woman and child in the village 
—were seated, eager and expectant, on one of 
the low benches inside the big tent. 

How their eyes bulged when Red, attired in 
an old dress suit and high hat that had been his 
father’s, appeared with a long riding whip in his 
hand. Though Red had decided not to show all 
the stunts that they knew, he and his companions 
had agreed that they were to act as if the tent 
were crowded to overflowing with spectators who 
had all paid the admission price of twenty-five 
cents. 

So now as he walked toward the nail keg that 
had been placed in the centre of the ring he bowed 
and smiled and doffed his hat right and left. 
That was so much pie for Red Gilbert—good 
training too for his future work in the diplomatic 
service. He loved to do things with an air. He 
mounted the keg and waited for the imaginary 
applause to subside. It was no use. He raised 
his hand for silence. No use at all. Cheer after 


48 


RED GILBERTS 


cheer resounded—in Red’s own mind of course. 
He shook his head and smiled sadly. Weren’t 
they going to let him begin? 

At last he thrust both hands suddenly over 
his head, brought them down quickly to his sides 
and, looking above the heads of the somewhat 
amazed Blakes, bellowed forth: 

“ Ladies and gentlemen! I thank you for this 
generous applause—I thank you! ” Then as the 
cheering and whistling settled into a loud mur¬ 
mur and then into silence he continued: “ Ladies 
and gentlemen, I have listened to cheers and 
shouts of approbation before, but I can truly say 
that nothing ever touched me so deeply as your 
own spontaneous efforts have done this after¬ 
noon. Again I thank you! 

“ And now, my fellow citizens, I shall say a 
word about the purpose of Red Gilbert’s Flying 
Circus, the greatest show on earth. I shall not 
try your patience. I shall be brief, for as we all 
know, brevity is the soul of wit. If there is a 
congressman or a senator present, I make my 
apologies to him.” 

Red smiled as if in answer to the applause that 
had greeted the keen thrust; then he continued: 
“ The purpose of our show is primarily to educate 


FLYING CIRCUS 49 

and amuse. And what, my fellow citizens, is 
more educational and amusing than animals? 
Ladies and gentlemen, it is a hot day. Coats and 
hats are off; fans and handkerchiefs are flutter¬ 
ing in the heated air. Yet it is not warm enough 
for Mex, the hairless hound, who is only comfort¬ 
able when he is asleep on the crater of Popo¬ 
catepetl, in darkest Mexico, breathing the fumes 
of sulphur as he dreams of toasted dog biscuits, 
which, alas, he never gets. Ladies and gentlemen 
—this is Mex.” 

As Red finished he cracked his whip. The flap 
of the tent lifted, and in trotted the little hairless 
hound without his blanket, shivering as if he had 
just come from the ice chest. He trotted up to 
within a few feet of the keg and stood there like 
an aspen leaf in the wind. Yet there was no 
wind, and the sun was beating down furiously 
on the canvas. Red glanced at him once and 
then turned up his collar and thrust his hands 
into his pockets. And so hard did the little dog 
shiver that in a few minutes both younger Blakes 
were doing it, too! 

“Enough! Quick, the blanket!” cried Red, 
and in came Skip, attired as a Spanish bull 
fighter, and hurriedly wrapped the little green 


50 RED GILBERTS, 

blanket round the shivering son of Popocate¬ 
petl. 

Then Skip struck a pose and in his best parlor 
voice sang that well-known classic of the South 
of France, the Deepest-dyed Villain of Spain— 
a man, by the way, who was so villainous that 
even his teeth were false. It really was a pa¬ 
thetic, tragic song—until the last verse, which 
ran: 

“ Oh, he was a murderous villain. 

Who loved only to fight and to waltz, 

But they found him quite dead with his throat 
cut in bed: 

His teeth had at last played him false! ” 

Mr. Blake, who had been ready almost to shed 
a tear only a moment before, burst into a loud 
guffaw and then checked himself suddenly, re¬ 
membering perhaps that his own teeth, which 
were as false as the Spaniard’s, might prove 
equally treacherous. But how the children and 
the mother laughed 1 Their teeth were sound 
enough. 

The next stunt consisted of “ funny stuff ” by 
Creampuff and Vaseline. It was mostly a case 
of “ He who gets slapped,” and the funniest 
parts were accidental. For example, while 


FLYING CIRCUS 


51 


Creampuff was all tangled up in the rounds of a 
chair, and the spectators, all four of them, were 
convulsed with laughter at his antics, he noticed 
that one of his shoe-laces was untied; he let go 
the chair and bent over to tie the lace. And 
while he was thus engaged Vaseline sneaked up 
behind him, barrel stave in hand, and let Op¬ 
portunity in with a wallop that sounded like the 
crack of a rifle. 

Poor Creampuff collapsed and fell forward. 
For an instant he wanted to rub Vaseline in the 
dirt, but he recovered himself just in time and 
with rare presence of mind cried out: “ Oh, I’m 
dead! ” and lay there face downward. 

But Vaseline wasn’t convinced. He got a 
short length of rope and with the aid of it listened 
to his victim’s heart beat. That convinced him. 
He had murdered poor Creampuff! He wrung 
his hands, and great tears streaked the powder on 
his face. He was sadly digging a grave when 
Red pointed to the idle slapstick. Vaseline let 
Opportunity in again, and Creampuff came to 
life. 

And so it went, and the whole town of Sleepy 
Bend laughed and shouted and enjoyed them¬ 
selves. 


52 


RED GILBERTS 


Then followed stunts with King Richard and 
the royal mice, which because of Pen’s negligence 
almost provided a royal dinner for the Three 
Musketeers, who couldn’t or wouldn’t under¬ 
stand that everything was in fun. 

Finally Red brought in Tut Ankh Amen, Jr., 
and told a few interesting things about the every¬ 
day life of the bird before it had left Egypt. 
Tut wagged his head several times and remarked 
savagely: “ Curses, curses on the circus! ” 

“ He’s not feeling well to-day,” said Red. 

Thereupon the bird fixed his bright eyes on 
the mice and said with much contempt: 

“ Three blind mice, 

Let’s roll the dice! ” 

And then immediately: 

“ Three dirty cats, 

Oh, how I love—rats! ” 

At the end of two hours Red mounted the keg 
again and made a brief closing address; he 
thanked the crowd for their kind attention and 
hoped they had got their money’s worth. Then 
the four deadheads rose and went out, and Skip 
told their fortunes in the side tent. They would 
all be rich some day, he said, but not while they 


FLYING CIRCUS 53 

lived in Sleepy Bend—which was perfectly true, 
no doubt. 

It had been a great afternoon for the Flying 
Circus. Red was explaining things after they 
had all eaten supper. The boys were seated out¬ 
side the small tent; the large one had already 
been packed to make ready for an early-morning 
start. “ There’s absolutely no doubt of our suc¬ 
ceeding now, fellows. You all showed you could 
act, especially Fred and Paul.” 

“ Well, if Paul wallops me again as hard as 
he did this afternoon,” exclaimed Fred* “ I’ll 
muss up his face for him! ” 

“ Now don’t get excited, Freddy,” said Red; 
“ we all have to suffer for the sake of our art.” 

“ Huh, how did you suffer, I’d like to know? ” 
“ Why,” replied Red, “ do you suppose I en¬ 
joyed making those speeches? Not by a sling 
shot! I was afraid some roughneck out there in 
the audience was going to throw a deadly egg or 
a tomato that had stayed out too late. Didn’t 
you notice how that gang of young fellows over 
on the west side started to boo when I said we 
were the greatest show on earth? ” 

Fred looked at Skip, and Pen looked at Paul. 
“ Red,” said Pen solemnly, “ when you grow up 


54 


RED GILBERTS 


you’re either going to be one of the greatest birds 
in the country or you’re going to land in jail.” 

“ I don’t intend to be a jail bird,” replied Red 
modestly. “ But this is what I want you fellows 
to get. If you want to do big things you’ve got 
to assume you’ve been doing big things all your 
life. Now old Mr. Blake tells me that at Union, 
which we ought to reach by noon to-morrow, 
there’s a big summer camp for boys. He never 
was there, and so he doesn’t know the name of it. 
But the thing looks good to me. I see a busy 
day for the clowns! In fact, I see a busy day 
for all of us, and the gate receipts will roll in like 
water through a sieve! ” 

“ What makes you think so? ” asked Skip. 

“ Because,” replied Red, 44 I’ve got a plan—a 
rip-roaring, doggone good one too if I as 
shouldn’t says so! ” 

Skip of course as well as Pen and Paul and 
Fred wanted to know what the plan was, but 
Red said he didn’t want to talk for publication 
yet a while; besides, the plan was a bit vague. 
He wanted to sleep on it. He would tell them 
all about it in the morning. 

But before he unrolled his plan and spread it 
out preparatory to sleeping on it he lit one of the 


FLYING CIRCUS 55 

lanterns and, finding pen and ink, began to write. 
His companions, rolled up in their blankets, 
watched him sleepily. A plan—a plan—what 
was Red up to now? What was—ho hum—good¬ 
night. 

And while his companions were getting their 
beauty sleep, whether they needed it or not. Red 
found a large square of light canvas and began 
to splash ink on it; but he splashed it carefully 
so that no one could possibly mistake the char¬ 
acters. Having inked the canvas, not to mention 
his hands, he chuckled softly, turned out the 
lantern and lay down to sleep—on his plan. 


CHAPTER V 


The circus made an early start. Nevertheless 
the whole town of Sleepy Bend was up to give 
them a memorable send-off. Handkerchiefs 
fluttered under the azure sky; rough hands waved 
fond farewells in the morning breeze; and sobs 
and tears mingled with smiles and laughter. 

Red was feeling uncommonly virtuous as he 
looked back at the little no-horse town. “ Fel¬ 
lows/’ he said, “ we did what the Scouts call a 
good turn in putting on a show back there. We 
made life a brighter and better thing for those 
poor people.” 

“ Yes, but we didn’t build up the credit side 
of the ledger,” said Pen. 

“ Shame on you, Pen,” said Red, whose streak 
of virtue seemed a mile wide that morning; “a 
good deed is its own reward.” 

“ Well,” said Paul, “ it’s about time you told 
us what we’re going to do at Union. It would 
be rather nice if we all knew.” 

Red laughed good-naturedly. “ All right,” 
he said, “ let’s stop here at the foot of this hill 
and give Silverheels a chance to get his wind/’ 

56 


RED GILBERT 


57 


As the wagon stopped, Red called King 
Richard down off the front seat and then pulled 
the square of canvas from beneath the Three 
Musketeers, who, selfish above all things, had 
made a bed for themselves on it. In a few 
moments Red had draped the canvas over the 
back of the big Saint Bernard and fastened it 
round his neck. 

“ King Richard,” he explained to his com¬ 
panions, “ is now what you might call a sand¬ 
wich dog.” 

“My land!” exclaimed Fred. “Red, you 
old onion! ” 

The Saint Bernard was a sandwich dog indeed. 
On one side of the canvas Red had printed: 
“ Red Gilbert's Flying Circus. Wow! Here we 
are at last! ” The other side read: “ Special per¬ 
formance for the camp. Admission, $.25.” 

“ Great stuff! ” cried Skip and Paul. “ Good 
advertising! ” 

“ Well, now,” said Red, drawing a letter from 
his pocket and handing it to Pen, “ read this and 
tell me whether I haven't hit the nail on the 
thumb.” 

Pen read it aloud: “ ‘ To the camp director: 
Dear Sir: We, the members of Red Gilbert's 


58 


RED GILBERTS 


Flying Circus, beg leave to stage a special per¬ 
formance at your camp to-day, July 17th. Our 
show is clean and snappy, entertaining and educa¬ 
tional; all talent strictly first-class. We extend 
to you and to all other directors of the camp a 
cordial invitation to be our guests. 

“ ‘ Cordially and respectfully yours, 

“ ‘ The Redfield Gilbert Company.’ ” 

“ Well, what do you think of it? ” asked Red. 

“ Short and businesslike,” said Pen. “ I call 
it good.” 

“ That ought to fetch ’em,” said Skip. “ But 
hadn’t you better underline the word ‘ direc¬ 
tors ’? ” 

Red laughed. “ We’ll see that every kid pays 
his quarter,” he replied. “ I only hope there’s a 
big crowd at the camp. I went to a summer camp 
when I was a kid,” he added, “ and I know that 
along about the middle of Juty things often got 
monotonous. Why, we kids used to walk five 
miles just to hear a band concert. I’ve got a 
short speech all prepared that’ll make every boy 
present want to run off and join the circus! 
And camp directors, too, need a bit of diversion. 
In fact, I’d say we’re doing them a favor by tak- 


FLYING CIRCUS 59 

ing our show out to their camp. All right, now 
let’s go! ” 

King Richard was relieved of his sandwich; 
Red put the letter into his pocket; Tut talked a 
little nonsense just to keep in practice; the three 
cats blinked up thoughtfully at the royal mice; 
Silverheels aimed a kick at nothing in particular 
—and the outfit was on its way. 

At half-past eleven they came within sight of 
the town of Union, and the boys were a bit re¬ 
lieved to see people moving about in it; moreover, 
the place was rather larger than Sleepy Bend, 
and Red estimated that it contained perhaps one 
hundred times as many inhabitants. Off to the 
right near a brook at the edge of a grove were 
two long double rows of white tents. 

“ Hooray!” cried Paul. “There’s the camp 
all right, and it’s a big one.” 

“ We’ll be a rich outfit at the end of the day,” 
said Pen, confidently. 

“ There’s some of the campers,” said Fred. 
“ Husky little kids, too, they look from here. 
What are they doing? ” 

“ Playing golf, I guess,” replied Paul. 

Red Gilbert said nothing. Somehow the 
camp didn’t look just right to him. None of the 


60 


RED GILBERTS 


campers were running and chasing one another 
with sticks in their hands; there were no boys 
hanging from the limbs of the tallest trees; there 
were no boys fighting, though two of the campers 
seemed to be pulling each other’s hair—he 
couldn’t be sure at that distance. Then the 
answer came to him swiftly, terribly—the husky 
youngsters that Fred had pointed out were girls 
in bloomers, and they were playing croquet! 

Red waited a moment to recover from the 
shock; then he walked up abreast of Skip, who 
was driving. “ Skippy,” he said with a slow 
grin, “ do you see what I see? ” 

“ I see a town ahead and a boys’ camp off to 
the right.” 

“ No, you don’t,” said Red. “ You see a 
girls’ camp off to the right! ” 

“ Well, bless the sole of my shoe! ” cried Skip. 

“ Hey, fellows,” shouted Red, “ brush your 
hair and shine your shoes; we’re going to show at 
a girls’ camp! ” 

“ What! ” cried Pen and Fred and Paul all in 
one voice. 

“ There it is; you can see plain now. It’s a 
girls’ camp.” 

“ I’m goin’ right back home,” said Pen. 


FLYING CIRCUS 61 

But Pen didn’t go home; neither did anyone 
else. It was do or die—that is to say, go through 
with the show as planned or listen to Red’s words 
of scorn, and no one wanted to do that. A 
short distance outside of town therefore they 
turned into an old wagon road leading into the 
camp. 

Red made a sandwich dog of King Richard 
and put the letter into the Saint Bernard’s 
mouth; the envelope was addressed “ To the 
Camp Director.” Then Red and the dog hurried 
on ahead, and the wagon followed slowly. 

In a few minutes the camp was wide awake. 
The game of croquet ended abruptly; the hair¬ 
pulling—if that is what the sport had been— 
stopped while there were yet many handfuls to 
pull. In less than a minute the whole camp was 
gathered in front of their tents. 

“Now go ahead, King!” said Red, and the 
big dog bounded forward. 

Several of the girls screamed, but one who had 
been engaged in the doubtful sport advanced and 
placed her hand on the Saint Bernard’s head, as 
if she wanted to pull his hair. “ Why, you dear 
sweet old thing!” she exclaimed. “Who put 
that ugly table-cloth on you? Why, you’ve got 


62 RED GILBERTS 

a letter, haven’t you? Give it here, that’s the 
boy!” 

King Richard delivered his letter. The girl 
glanced at the address and then turned and raised 
her voice: “ Oh Miss Crabbe! This is meant for 
you!” 

A middle-aged spinster in a riding skirt ad¬ 
vanced and, breaking the seal, wished she had her 
glasses. But she read the letter without them, 
just to show that she could do it if she had to. 

Meanwhile Red, hat in hand, stood beside King 
Richard, waiting—and never did a boy appear 
more respectful. In fact he looked so polite and 
angelic that it seemed as if his wings must sprout 
then and there and carry him up to heaven. 

At last Miss Crabbe glanced up. 44 H’m,” she 
said and sniffed. 44 Did you write this? ” 

44 Yes, ma’am,” replied Red with a winning 
smile. 

“ Well, then, tell me how you happened to ad¬ 
dress me as 4 Dear sir ’ ? ” 

For an instant Red was nonplused; he had for¬ 
gotten all about that little matter. But he re¬ 
covered himself quickly and replied: 44 You see, 
ma’am, I didn’t know. Ypur camp is so large 
and fine looking that I thought perhaps the Y. 


FLYING CIRCUS 63 

M. C. A. or one of the big New York news¬ 
papers was running it. In that case, naturally, 
the camp director would be a man.” 

The answer seemed to please Miss Crabbe; 
nevertheless, she retired into her shell for a few 
moments to think. When she came out she said: 
“ Personally I don’t like circuses and such non¬ 
sense, but since you’re here I suppose you may 
as well give a show and get it over with; other¬ 
wise my girls will never cease talking of the fun 
they missed.” 

Red bowed. “ You are most kind,” he replied, 
“ and I shall emphasize the educational features 
of our performance wherever possible.” 

Five minutes later he and his four companions 
were hard at work setting up the great white 
canvas out in the large open field in front of the 
camp. To keep her girls away from the “ circus 
men,” Miss Crabbe had ordered a calisthenic 
drill; so the boys had no excuse for not working 
hard. 

“ Fellows,” said Red when they were about 
ready, “ I think we’d better cut out the clown 
stunt; I never yet saw a girl who liked Charlie 
Chaplin or clowns either. Fred and Paul can 
look after the money and be generally useful. 


64 


RED GILBERTS 

And remember, fellows, we’ll have a sensitive, 
high-strung audience. Above all things be care¬ 
ful!” 

At the proper time the camp marched forth 
in a body. Pen and Fred handled the money, 
and Paul and Skip arranged for the seating. 
Miss Crabbe and her four assistants occupied a 
bench at the back, and the girls sat close together 
on the grass in front, where they could be seen 
as well as heard. 

Red made a brief opening speech in which he 
praised the camp and especially the camp direc¬ 
tors and then, noticing that some of the girls had 
bobbed hair, made a few disparaging but not 
unkind remarks about that form of coiffure—a 
stroke that surely hit Miss Crabbe in the right 
place, for she nodded vigorous approval. “ And 
now,” concluded Red, “ our first number is Mex, 
the bobbed-haired dog from Mexico-” 

In trotted the little hairless hound, shivering at 
his best. Some of the girls, notably the one who 
had been engaged in the hair-pulling match, 
giggled, but most of them were all sympathy. 
“ Oh, the poor little thing—that’s cruel! ” cried 
a dozen voices—and Red quickly called for the 
blanket. 



FLYING CIRCUS 65 

Skip, attired as a bull fighter, received a much 
better ovation. He had a good voice, and after 
singing about the deepest-dyed villain, he was 
obliged to give four encores. 

Then came the Chariot March, which at once 
struck the popular fancy. King Richard was 
hitched to a miniature chariot made of the front 
wheels of a baby carriage; in front of him were 
hitched the cats single file—Clarence, Fritz and 
Erick. And in the vehicle sat little Mex with a 
little whip protruding from beneath his blanket. 
Twice round the ring they went without a hitch. 
Then Pen, out of sight in the small tent, struck 
up “ Here Comes the Bride ” on his violin. 

Right there Erick showed deplorable lack of 
poise. He had heard that violin before, and he 
knew that the strings were made of catgut. He 
didn’t like it. So he stopped and began to mew 
pitifully; Fritz and Clarence at once joined him. 
Then King Richard and Mex began to bark. 
Paul hastened outside, and in a moment the music 
stopped. The chariot resumed its journey, and 
Red seized Opportunity by the coat collar. 

“ You see,” he explained, “ all our animals, 
especially our cats, are highly intelligent. They 
know the tune. They know also that there’s 


66 


RED GILBERTS 


only one passenger in the chariot. They know 
it takes two to make a wedding, just as it takes 
two to make —alas—a quarrel.” 

Next came the parrot, which, fortunately, was 
in a talkative mood. Red placed him on the back 
of a chair. “ This is Tut Ankh Amen, Jr.,” he 
explained. “ Tut, tell the ladies how old you 
are.” 

“ Never! ” replied the parrot. 

“ You see,” said Red, “ he’s modest.” 

“ Modesty is the best policy,” said Tut, catch¬ 
ing at the word. 

The girls giggled as if they didn’t believe it. 
Miss Crabbe frowned as if she did. 

“ Now,” said Red, “ tell the ladies something 
about your old home at Luxor. How did you 
find Egypt? ” 

“Awful!” replied Tut. “Oh, rats, I’m 
tired.” And he stretched his wings and blinked 
his eyes. 

“ Who’s your best friend, Tut? ” 

“ Red Gilbert! Come on, Red, let’s go! ” 

The big tent resounded to the clapping of 
hands. Already Red was rather popular. 

Next came Skip with an assortment of sleight- 
of-hand tricks. They were good stunts too, but 


FLYING CIRCUS 


67 


the spectators were unappreciative, and Skip had 
to sing once more to make up for what he had 
lost. 

So far the show had gone pretty well, consider¬ 
ing the type of spectators, but trouble was wait¬ 
ing with its little pink ear to the ground. And 
to find the cause of it —cherchez le chat . That is 
to say, look for Erick. 


CHAPTER VI 


Paul had entered with the two white mice in 
the cage. A hush fell upon the assembly; if 
Paul had been at all superstitious he might have 
taken it for a warning, but he was not. Neither 
was Red. 

Paul stretched a wire from one chair to another 
and, trying his best to imitate Red’s easy con¬ 
versational tone, said: 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, these are white 
mice-” 

Two girls began to giggle, and Paul added 
hastily, “ I beg your pardon; there are no gentle¬ 
men here-” 

There was more giggling then, and Paul 
coughed, bit his lips, frowned at the mice, which 
had nothing to do with it, of course, and then, like 
an over-enthusiastic vegetarian, turned as red as 
a beet. “ I mean,” he continued, “ I—I 
mean-” 

“Oh, the mean thing!” someone said in a 
stage whisper, and they had poor Paul sewed up 
in a sack. 

“ He means,” said Red easily, “ that the only 
68 





RED GILBERT 


69 


gentlemen here are the circus men, and of course 
they don’t count.” 

In the hand-clapping that followed Paul re¬ 
gained his poise. “ As I said before,” he went 
on, “ these are white mice. I know that girls 
don’t like mice—neither do elephants—but that’s 
because they don’t know how intelligent white 
mice are. Now these intelligent little creatures 
come from the White Mountains, where they 
used to feed entirely on the bark of the white 
birch. When we purchased them—at great ex¬ 
pense of course—we had to change their diet. 
Naturally we couldn’t cart white birch trees 
round with us.” 

There were more giggles, but Paul had hit his 
stride. He began to sprint. “ First we tried 
white lead—wouldn’t do—made ’em too heavy. 
Then we tried the white meat of a chicken—that 
nearly ruined us financially. Then we tried 
whitewash—that wouldn’t do either—they hate 
to wash. Finally what do you suppose we sub¬ 
stituted? ” 

“ White potatoes,” said one girl. 

“ The white of an egg,” said another. 

“ White bread,” added a third. 

“ No,” said Paul. “ You’re all wrong. We 


70 


RED GILBERTS 


substituted White’s Hair Tonic—there’s just 
enough wood alcohol in it to remind them of the 
white birch of New Hampshire. Now let me 
demonstrate to you how efficacious it has proved.” 

He opened the cage and, lifting out Little 
Lord Fauntleroy—or Bonnie Prince Charley— 
placed him on the wire. The little fellow raced 
back and forth, back and forth. Then Paul 
lifted out Bonnie Prince Charley—or Little 
Lord Fauntleroy—and placed him on the wire. 
The two mice met in the middle. What would 
they do? The audience waited expectantly. 

For two whole days Paul had trained his pets 
to do that stunt and do it right. The little Lord 
was to wait, and the Bonnie Prince was to jump 
over him. But now something was wrong; the 
two mice just sat there and rubbed noses. 

They might still be rubbing noses if it hadn’t 
been for Erick. Without anyone’s seeing him, 
he had slipped out of his bed in the spring wagon, 
followed closely by Fritz and Clarence, who 
had no originality at all. Now all three were 
crouching behind a box close to the side of the 
tent, which they had entered via the deadhead 
route. 

“ Come, Prince Charley,” said Paul. “ Why 


FLYING CIRCUS 


71 


don’t you jump? Come now, Charlie over the 
water, Charlie over the sea-” 

But the two mice continued to rub noses like a 
couple of friendly cannibals after a banquet of 
white meat. 

Paul frowned and turned to look at Red, and 
just then Erick reverted to type. He was a 
wildcat! So were Fritz and Clarence. The 
three shot forward with murder gleaming in their 
yellow eyes. The girls screamed. Miss Crabbe 
and her assistants went over backward on the 
bench. Red and Paul leaped forward. 

Erick, Fritz and Clarence struck the wire all at 
once, and the two mice flew up into the air like 
shrapnel from a bursting shell and came down 
among the spectators. And then—O Gentle 
Reader! 

There was the wildest scramble since eggs be¬ 
came a recognized diet. Screams filled the air. 
The whole world seemed to have gone mad. 

In less than ten seconds the big tent was empty 
—empty except for Paul, who lay with Little 
Lord Fauntleroy somewhere below his chest, and 
for Miss Crabbe, who was standing on the only 
chair that had not overturned—she seemed to 
be waiting for the second flood. 



72 


RED GILBERTS 


Outside in the big open field Bonnie Prince 
Charley was running as if all the Englishmen in 
the world were right at his tail. Half a dozen 
yards behind him Red, high silk hat in hand, was 
speeding like a young whirlwind. And a score 
of yards behind him, and gaining at every stride, 
the Three Musketeers were racing neck and neck. 

The mouse swerved a bit. So did Red—and 
lost a yard. So did the cats—and gained five. 
Then down-hill they went, and Red was only six 
yards behind the fugitive prince; but the cats 
were almost even with him. In two seconds Red 
was within striking distance. As the cats shot 
past him he hurled himself forward. 

Plunk! Down came his right arm, and it was 
no longer “ Charley over the water,” but Charley 
under the hat! 

All three cats tried to stop at once, but they 
were going too fast. The result was that the 
three of them turned somersaults there on the 
turf and came up sitting on their haunches and 
looking as innocent as new-born kittens that had 
never licked a milk bottle. Then in an uncon¬ 
cerned way they got up and walked slowly off. 
But Erick was a bad actor; he had not gone five 
yards when he stopped and made a vicious pass 


FLYING CIRCUS 73 

at a blade of grass. Then Fritz and Clarence of 
course had to do the same thing. 

“Blasted cats!” said Red* grinning. “You 
would, would you! ” 

He reached under the hat, secured the prince 
and then got to his feet. At the door of the big 
tent stood Paul with Little Lord Fauntleroy in 
his cupped hands. Off at the left Pen and Skip 
and Fred were surrounded by the campers, who 
seemed to be all talking at once; and above the 
uproar sounded the shrill voice of Miss Crabbe. 
Red knew just what that gathering meant, and 
he started forward on the run. 

Relief showed in the faces of his three com¬ 
panions as he edged toward them. Something 
else showed in Miss Crabbe’s face—something 
that told Red plainly that if he had any diplo¬ 
macy he must prepare to use it now. 

“Well!” said Miss Crabbe—and what an 
amount of expression a woman can put into that 
little word! How deep she can make a. well 
seem! 

“ Miss Crabbe,” said Red in his sincerest man¬ 
ner, “ you can’t imagine how sorry I am that a 
thing like this should have happened! ” 

“ Oh, can’t I?” 


74 


BED GILBERTS 


“ You have my deepest and sincerest apologies. 
But in fairness to myself and companions,” Red 
continued frankly, “ I must say that if everyone 
had acted as coolly as you did, there would 
have been no trouble.” 

Miss Crabbe’s face relaxed a bit. “ Mary, stop 
biting your hair ribbon like that! ” she said 
sharply to the girl next to her. 

Mary tried to think of another way of biting 
her ribbon but couldn’t; so she stopped alto¬ 
gether. 

“ Accidents will happen,” continued Red, 
“ especially when you are working with intelli¬ 
gent animals. Now if there’s anything we can 
do-” 

“ The girls want their money back,” said one 
of the assistant directors. 

Red nodded slowly and glanced thoughtfully 
round at the sea of faces. “ Yes—yes, a per¬ 
fectly natural wish,” he said. “ And yet-” 

He turned abruptly to the head director. 
“ Miss Crabbe,” he said, “ I don’t like to think 
of money in connection with this unfortunate 
affair. Merely to give back money seems such 
an inadequate, such a cold, heartless way of 
making reparation. I had thought of some- 



FLYING CIRCUS 75 

thing else—something—but no, I shan’t mention 
it.” 

Talk about curiosity killing a cat! Red knew 
his little book. Cats were not in it with those 
girls! They wanted to know what he meant; in 
fact they insisted on knowing. And of course 
Red had to tell them. 

“ Well,” he said, yielding as if with the great¬ 
est reluctance, “ we have a fortune teller with us, 
an exponent of one of the best schools of that 
occult art. Usually we charge the ridiculously 
low price of ten cents per sitting, but after this 
extremely unfortunate accident it seems only fair 
to offer each girl glimpses of her future—gratis.” 

A chorus of low sighs told him that he had 
split Cupid’s arrow. Miss Crabbe colored, but 
not with anger. Everyone was pleased—every¬ 
one except Skip. His feet seemed to drag as he 
went to the side tent and put on his flowing robes. 

Never was the future looked into so persist¬ 
ently, so searehingly, as on that sunny afternoon. 
Miss Crabbe was first, and when she came out 
of the tent her eyes were fixed on the golden 
clouds, and her step was as light as moonbeams 
on a rose petal. For two solid hours there was 
a long line outside the tent, and poor Skip peered 


76 


RED GILBERTS 


into the future till his eyes burned and his nerves 
threatened to snap. When the last girl had been 
told that some day a modern Lochinvar would 
come out of the west by airplane and carry her 
off to the palm-fringed isles of bliss Skip rushed 
out of his tent like a bullet from a Springfield. 

Red was helping to cook supper when Skip 
landed in front of him, tore off his flowing robes 
and threw them at his feet. “ Red, you snipe! ” 
he cried. “ Of all the scurvy tricks! I’ll be 
boiled in oil if I ever tell another fortune! ” 

“ Skip,” replied Red earnestly, “ I’ll boil 
along with you if I ever put on another show at 
a girls’ camp! Here, have some coffee. You 
did noble, Skippy, my boy. You saved the day.” 

“ Have to hand it to Skip,” said Fred. 

Skip chose to believe that Fred had made a bad 
pun and relieved his feelings by rubbing the 
clown’s head in the dirt. 

Then Pen went to work on his ledger. At last 
he had a chance to show why he had flunked his 
bookkeeping course. 

Everyone slept well that night, even Skip, and 
the following morning the circus moved into the 
village of Union. There the boys bought a big 
supply of provisions and feed, and Pen, who had 


FLYING CIRCUS 


77 


got his ledger nicely balanced the night before, 
had to go to work and muss it all up again. 

Long before noon the quiet little village had 
broken out, like the measles, with glaring vari¬ 
colored posters announcing the “ greatest show 
on earth.” No fence had escaped the dire epi¬ 
demic; no smooth rock, no telegraph pole was 
without the unsightly blotches. One old vacant 
house near the centre of town looked as if it never 
would recover; Red, himself, had carried the 
disease to it, and when Red did a thing he did it 
well. Why, from a short distance that house 
looked like a Comanche’s wigwam! 

“ How are the animals? ” Red inquired of Skip 
early in the afternoon when the crowds had begun 
to gather in front of the big tent. 

“ Oh, Erick’s sick again,” Skip replied 
gloomily. 

“ Sick with disappointment, I suppose,” said 
Red. “ Well, Erick should worry.” 

“ I think we all should worry,” replied Skip 
still more gloomily and sighed deeply. 

“ Say, what’s the matter with you, Skippy? ” 
demanded Red. 

Skip only sighed once more and glanced 
wearily up at the big cloud that at that moment 


78 


RED GILBERTS 


rolled in front of the sun. “ Ho hum,” he said 
at last, “ I don’t know what’s the matter with me. 
I’ve got a sort of hunch that something un¬ 
pleasant is going to happen.” 

“ Well, you’re the fortune teller, you ought to 
know.” 

Skip glanced into the small tent, where Pen 
was writing furiously in his ledger. On the floor, 
like autumn leaves, lay the bills of the morning’s 
supplies scattered among odd pieces of scratch 
paper covered with Pen’s figures. Skip sighed 
again. “ Red,” he said, “ shall I have to tell 
fortunes this time? ” 

“ Why, of course. You ought to be pretty 
good after yesterday’s practice. I think we’ll 
have the fortunes told first to-day.” 

Skip looked as if he had lost everything but 
the part in his hair. 

“ Cheer up, Skippy, old boy,” said Red, “ and 
don’t think too much about that hunch of 
yours.” 

“ I can’t help it,” said Skip, biting his lips. 
“ Something unpleasant is going to happen to¬ 
day as sure as cats eat catsup. I feel it in my 
bones. Red, I think there’s a jinx following us. 
Think what happened back at Sleepy Bend! 


FLYING CIRCUS 79 

Think what happened yesterday!” Skip shud¬ 
dered. 

“ I don’t believe in jinxes,” replied Red. 
“ Come on now, let’s start things. Get your 
flowing robes on and think of the future.” 

With that Red put on his high hat, took up 
his riding whip and as the crowd pressed closer 
cleared his throat and began: 

“ Show starts in another hour! Ladies and 
gentlemen, step into the side tent and have your 
fortunes told. It’s only a dime, ten cents! 
Glimpse the future. Learn where you’re going 
to die and then keep away from there. Find out 
whether he’s true to you, ladies—a dime will tell 
you, no matter how thin it is! Gentlemen, step 
right in and get it over with; you’ll feel better. 
Two nickels, one dime—it’s only ten cents! ” 

“ Ten cents is too much! ” cried a thin-voiced 
old gentleman in black. 

“ If you don’t think your fortune is worth ten 
cents don’t go in,” replied Red, and the crowd 
laughed. “ That’s right, this little girl is first. 
Don’t press too close. One at a time. That’s 
the way, have your money ready.” 

Red lifted the flap of the small tent. “ All 
right in there, Skip? ” he whispered. 


80 


RED GILBERT 


“ Red,” said Skip, wrinkling his forehead, “ I 

can’t get rid of that hunch. Something-” 

Red stepped back. “ All right, little girl,” he 
said, “ in you go. Don’t be nervous. I wish I 
had half the good things you’re going to get be¬ 
fore you’re a week older! ” 


CHAPTER VII 

That mysterious and unwelcome creature the 
jinx has been pictured in the form of a lizard, 
with malicious green eyes and a wagging red 
tongue. He is a most unpleasant pet. Though 
his legs are short, he is a great boy to travel; he 
has followed sailors round the world—and ships 
have gone down with all on board. He has fol¬ 
lowed armies from front to front—and whole 
regiments have been wiped out. Why, then, 
shouldn’t he follow a circus—and hope for the 
best? 

Skip was asking himself that question the 
moment he had told his last fortune for the day. 
“ No reason,” he said to himself gloomily, “ none 
at all! I should think a jinx would want to be 
in a circus with the other animals.” Skip 
stretched mightily, but the cloud of gloom that 
had fallen over him was not to be easily thrown 
off. 

He could hear Red in the big tent telling the 
crowd all about it—“ The greatest show on earth, 
ladies and gentlemen! ” Then the sound of ap- 
81 


82 


RED GILBERTS 


plause. Then Red announcing the Egyptian 
parrot. Then Tut’s shrill voice: “Bing! Zip! 
Scat! There goes the cat! ” And then immedi¬ 
ately, “Zip! Bing! Ouch! Now he’s got a 
grouch! ” 

Skip smiled faintly and in a preoccupied way 
began to dress for his song about the deepest- 
dyed but unfortunate Spaniard who had been the 
victim of false play. Now he could hear the slap, 
slap of the slapsticks as Vaseline sank Creampuff 
without warning and Creampuff smeared Vase¬ 
line without mercy. 

At last, fully dressed, Skip peered forth from 
the side tent. Why, how overcast the sky had 
become! And even as he looked rain began to 
fall, big drops that spattered in the dust; more¬ 
over, the wind was rising. He saw one of their 
own posters rip from a fence and, whirling round 
like a Dervish of the desert, vanish upward. To 
poor Skip in his depressed state of mind, the 
circumstance seemed an ill omen. 

Maybe it was. At any rate the rain settled 
into a steady pour, and the wind rose to discon¬ 
certing violence. The fly of the tent rattled and 
flapped; the ropes creaked, and the pole shook. 
Great quantities of leaves scudded through the 


FLYING CIRCUS 83 

air as if on their way to a fire, and off to the east 
sounded the ominous roll of thunder. The jinx 
was on his way. 

Nervous and fearful, Skip waited for his cue. 
At last it came, and he sprinted across the open 
space and bounded in at the door of the big tent; 
and just as he entered there was a vivid flash of 
lightning followed immediately by a terrific, ear- 
splitting crash of thunder. It was a dramatic 
entrance for the villainous bull fighter, but no one 
was thinking of the drama. The tent had begun 
to leak, and the crowd were edging this way and 
that way like sheep under a tree in a storm. And 
there stood Red smiling in a way meant to be 
reassuring. “ Skip,” he said in a low voice, 
“ sing something funny—the one about Mary’s 
lamb.” 

Skip picked out a dry spot and lifted his head; 
there was the crowd, uneasy, excited and some of 
them frightened. He drew a deep breath—and 
held it as a bigger gust than ever struck the tent. 
That was a fierce gust indeed, for it took the boy’s 
memory along with it. Try as he would, he 
couldn’t think how the first verse went. But he 
knew the second, and without further delay 
began: 


84 RED GILBERT’S 

“ Oh, that saucy little lamb was a doggone pest 

With its musical horns and its fleece-lined vest. 

So she gave it to a sailor man to carry to the East, 

But the sailor man was hungry, and the lamb went— 
West!” 

And just then the worst gale of all arrived 
from the quarter where the lamb had gone. 
R-r-r-ip! Up flew one side of the tent. Rush! 
Crack! And down came the pole. The jinx 
had arrived! 

The last thing Skip saw was Paul, Fred and 
Pen rushing to save the pole. Then down came 
the great mass of canvas, and Skip was knocked 
flat on his face. It was as if he had suddenly left 
this sad planet of ours; he felt as if he were in 
another world, a very dark and wet world. From 
somewhere came faint sounds of struggle; he 
could feel the wet canvas over him shake and 
could hear the wind in the trees. He tried to get 
up but couldn’t; so, being a sensible lad, he began 
to crawl. 

But Skip was not the only sensible person 
present; others were crawling too, as he swiftly 
learned when his head came violently into con¬ 
tact with someone else’s. Crack! In the con¬ 
fined space the blow sounded like two dumb-bells 
striking together. 


FLYING CIRCUS 85 

“ Hey! ” cried Skip. 

“ Is that you, Skippy ? ” came Red’s voice. 

“ Yes; didn’t I tell you something awful was 
goin’ to happen? Where the dickens are we? ” 

“ We’re in the subway somewhere between 
Borough Hall and Bowling Green, I think. 
Follow me, Skip; we’ve got to get these people 
out.” 

Red led off up-town, and in a moment bumped 
heads with Pen—another collision in the subway. 

“ Ouch!” said Pen. 

“ Get off the track, Penny, and then hitch on 
behind; this is an express. Hurry up, it’s seri¬ 
ous business! ” 

Red crawled at top speed, rounding turns 
recklessly and at last came up from below the 
river. The pole of the tent had broken off half¬ 
way up, and there were a crowd of spectators 
gathered round it beneath the flapping canvas; 
they looked as if they might be in the cabin of 
a sinking ship. 

“ Come on, Skip!” cried Red. “Come on, 
Pen, give me a hand here! ” And he ran to the 
opposite side, where the canvas sloped off 
gradually, as the side of a tent should. 

In a few minutes the boys, assisted by some of 


86 


RED GILBERTS 


the men, had raised the canvas on their shoulders 
so that it formed a long lane like a bridal canopy 
in front of a church; and through it the women 
and children passed to safety. And when they 
were all outside the boys followed. 

The first person Red saw was Fred standing 
in the rain with little Mex in his arms; the dog 
was shivering violently, though all of him except 
his eyes and his nose was wrapped in three 
sweaters. 

“ Everybody safe? ” inquired Red anxiously. 

“ Yes, Paul has just examined the tent in 
search of suspicious lumps. Gosh, this is awful. 
Red! ” 

“How are the animals?” asked Red. “All 
safe and sound? ” 

“ Safe and soaked! ” came Tut’s soprano from 
the back of the spring wagon. 

“ Can’t find the cats,” said Fred. 

“ Good! Maybe they’re drowned! ” exclaimed 
Pen gleefully, coming up at that moment. 

Red glanced swiftly round. There was the big 
tent looking like a punctured Boche balloon— 
yards and yards of torn and muddy canvas. 
Little groups of the townsfolk, whose ancestors 
may have been ducks or turtles, were standing 


FLYING CIRCUS 87 

about in the rain, ready to move off at the first 
call for help. Others, whose forebears were less 
amphibious, were watching from doorways and 
windows. But most of the spectators were by 
that time within four walls, hunting for dry 
changes of clothing. 

“Say!” exclaimed Red. “Where’s the side 
tent? ” 

Pen, who had gone to find his ledger, returned 
at that moment with the book and a face as long 
as the columns of figures in it. He took Red by 
the arm and led him solemnly a few yards down 
the street; then he stopped and pointed. 
“ There’s the tent,” he said sorrowfully. 

“ Who the dickens pitched it there? ” ex¬ 
claimed Red, following the direction of his 
clerical companion’s index finger. 

There was the small tent hanging like a boy’s 
kite from the upper branches of an old maple. 

“Talk about the wreck of the Hesperus!” 
muttered Red. 

“ I told you something would happen,” said 
Skip. “ We’re jinxed, that’s what! ” 

But Red did not even hear. “Fellows,” he 
said at last, “ this is just another of those unfor¬ 
tunate circumstances that go to make up the life 


88 


RED GILBERTS 


of circus men. It’s hard luck for us, and it’s 
hard luck for those people, especially the children, 
who paid good money to see the show. The per¬ 
formance wasn’t half over when the tent fell. 
We’ve got to make good somehow.” 

“How?” asked Pen. “Give them their 
money back? ” 

“ Oh, no need of that, I hope,” said Red. 

“ Well, what can we do? Seems to me we’re 
ruined! ” 

Red was thoughtful. At last with one of his 
emergency ideas that he seemed to carry round 
like extra shoe-laces he turned—and looked full 
into the face of a tall spectacled man in shiny 
blue serge. He was as thin as a pencil, and on 
his coat w r ere white spots that looked like paste. 
The fingers of his right hand, which clutched a 
small pad, were long and calloused as if from 
holding a pencil, and his lower lip was dirty as if 
from putting the pencil carelessly into his mouth. 

“ Good-day,” he said sharply. “ I’m a re¬ 
porter from the Union Clarion.” He might also 
have said that he was editor-in-chief as well as 
business manager, circulation manager and make- 
up man. 

“ You’re just the person I want to see! ” ex- 


FLYING CIRCUS 89 

claimed Red. “ Skip,” he added, “ take charge, 
will you, and see if you can get things into some 
kind of order. I’m going up to the Clarion office 
—hack in half an hour.” 

“ Good,” said the reporter-editor and so forth, 
though Skip couldn’t see just what was so good 
about it. 

“ Now,” said Red as the two hurried along 
through the rain, “ you want a story from me, 
don’t you? 

“ That’s my business.” 

“ Is the Clarion a daily paper? ” 

“No, weekly; it’ll be on the streets to-mor¬ 
row.” 

“ Good,” said Red. 

They entered the Clarion office with its one 
desk, its one typewriter, its one telephone and its 
ten waste paper baskets—by the looks of the floor 
ten more would have been useful. 

“ Now,” said Red, “ before I give you a story I 
want to give you something better. How much 
for a hundred-word box ad on the front page? ” 

The editor caught himself from going over 
backward in his chair, gulped once and replied: 
“ Ten cents a line, eight words to the line—eight 
into a hundred goes twelve and a half—one dollar 


90 


RED GILBERTS 


c and twenty-five cents—plus one dollar for the 
box—is two dollars and twenty-five cents.” 

“ Good,” said Red and, picking up a piece of 
paper, began to write. 

Skip and the others meanwhile were doing big 
things with the big tent; as for the little tent, 
that was a small matter for the present. With 
the aid of two long heavy sticks they spliced the 
tent pole and, assisted by three or four men who 
had read Toby Tyler in their youth, managed to 
get the canvas back where it belonged. By that 
time the rain had ceased to fall, and the wind had 
gone off somewhere else to blow about how it had 
wrecked a circus. The tent looked as if it had 
been stabbed to death by the deepest-dyed Span¬ 
iard—or bitten to death by his false teeth. There 
were seven long and unsightly rents, most of 
them near the top—showing that even in the little 
town of Union rents were high. 

When Red returned he found his companions, 
all except Pen, putting things to rights inside and 
caring for the animals. “ Fine work, fellows! ” 
he said enthusiastically. “ Where’s Pen? ” 

“ lie’s out looking for the Three Musketeers,” 
replied Paul. 

Fred grinned for the first time since the storm. 


FLYING CIRCUS 91 

“ I guess he wants to make sure they don’t come 
back.” 

“ Well,” said Red, “ let’s get the little tent 
down and then when we get it down put it up. 
That’s right, Skip, grin, you old herring! Has 
our jinx left us? ” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Skip. “ I wish I 
did.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


Red was no swivel-chair circus man. He 
climbed the maple and disentangled the side tent, 
which fell like a giant wash-rag, barely missing 
Skip, who was still wondering about the jinx. 
In ten minutes the boys had it in place. Then 
Fred and Paul built a small fire and, while Skip 
and Red were feeding the animals, started sup¬ 
per. 

Pen soon returned with a triumphant grin. 

“ So you didn’t find ’em? ” said Red. 

“Nope. They’re gone for good this time!” 

Red made no reply; he knew cats better than 
Pen did. After a few moments he said, “ Well, 
Pen, how do our books stand now? ” 

Pen sighed. “ Right after supper I’ll get to 
work,” he said. 

And he did. Twice his fountain pen went dry, 
and he almost wore the hair off one side of his 
head with his finger tips; but neither the scratch¬ 
ing of his fingers nor the scratching of his pen 
would make the confounded books balance. At 
last he sat back and gazed helplessly at the 
92 


BED GILBERT 93 

candle, whicH refused to throw any light on the 
situation. 

“ What’s the matter? ” asked Red. 

“ I’m stuck. By jingoes, it would take a 
tight-rope walker to balance these books! ” 

“ Just what is the trouble? ” asked Red. 

“ Well,” replied Pen, “ we took in thirty-six 
dollars and seventy-five cents yesterday at that 
girls’ camp; and I’m absolutely sure we took in 
an even forty dollars to-day, including the for¬ 
tunes.” 

“Well, that makes seventy-six dollars and 
seventy-five cents,” said Red. 

“ Of course it does. Well, we paid out 
twenty-two dollars and a half for grub. That 
leaves a balance of fifty-four dollars and twenty- 
five cents.” 

“ Yes, that’s right.” 

“ Of course it’s right,” said Pen. “ But tell 
me this: how is it the actual money in our box 
adds up to only fifty-two dollars? Did it fly 
away? Did the Three Musketeers run off with 
it? By thunder, I wouldn’t put it past ’em!” 
Pen seemed a bit upset. 

“ Oh, say! ” exclaimed Red with a slow grin 
and drew a piece of paper from his pocket. “ I 


94 


RED GILBERTS 


meant to give this to you before. Pen. I paid 
out two and a quarter for an ad in to-morrow’s 
'Union Clarion.” 

“ Oh,” said Pen, and there was relief in his 
tone. “ That makes it right, then. But after 
this, Red-” 

“ An ad in the paper? ” interrupted Skip. 
“ What for? ” 

“ Oh, just to make good to our patrons who 
suffered to-day,” replied Red. 

His four companions exchanged doubtful 
glances. “ I suppose,” said Skip, “ we’ll have to 
give another benefit performance.” 

“ Well, I suppose you might call it that. 
There now, Skippy, don’t you go and look like 
the last rose of summer—or of winter either. 
Our motto—that is one of our mottos—is to 
satisfy. If we can’t satisfy we ought to go out 
of business. You wouldn’t want to leave a lot of 
kids dissatisfied, would you? ” 

“ Huh,” said Skip doubtfully and then with a 
glance at Paul added: “ I suppose some of those 

kids had golden curls and blue eyes, didn’t they, 
Paul? ” 

“ What’s that got to do with it? ” demanded 
Red. 



FLYING CIRCUS 95 

“ Oh, nothing,” replied Skip, and for the next 
few minutes the tent was* so silent that you could 
hear Tut out in the wagon scratching his ear. 

Early the following morning the Clarion 
blared forth with a big story about the ill wind 
that tried to blow Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus 
inside out. It was a pretty good account, though 
it quite ruined the editor’s chances of ever getting 
a job in Boston; he split ten infinitives in the first 
column. Red had been rather more humane 
when he wrote his advertisement. It appeared 
thus: 

Whose Fault Was It? 

Surely not ours! Surely not yours! 

All right, let’s blame the weather for 
bringing to an untimely end the first 
performance at Union of Red Gilbert’s 
^Flying Circus, positively the Greatest 
Show on Earth! 

At three o’clock this afternoon the 
performance will be repeated. Chil¬ 
dren will be admitted free! All others, 
twenty-five cents. 

Do you want Five Dollars? 

We don’t, but we do want a good 
advertising slogan. We’ll pay five dol- 


96 


BED GILBERTS 

lars for the best. Each suggestion 
must be accompanied by twenty-five 
cents. Purchase a pink slip at the side 
tent before the show begins. 

Red’s four companions who had been bending 
eagerly over a copy of the Clarion, looked up at 
their leader with an expression that he was be¬ 
coming used to. 

“ Red, are you-” Skip paused. 

“ No , I’m not crazy, Skippy,” said Red. 
“We need a good slogan, don’t we? Well, here’s 
a chance to get one and at the same time add a bit 
to the credit side of Pen’s ledger.” 

Having got over the first shock, his companions 
admitted that the idea might be good. “ But 
who’ll take charge of the thing? ” asked Paul. 

“ Oh, I’ll see to that,” replied Red easily. 
“ Now let’s see if we can make this tent look a 
little less like a Russian’s coat.” 

The boys set to work at once; they did improve 
the looks of the canvas, but to mend it thoroughly 
in so short a time would have required the serv¬ 
ices of Omar the tent maker. However, by 
three o’clock things were in fair shape, and the 
show began with the usual short snappy speech 
by Red. 



FLYING CIRCUS 97 

Many of the adult spectators and one or two 
of the children, who composed at least three- 
quarters of the crowd, held pink slips that they 
had procured from Red at the side tent—for the 
modest sum of twenty-five cents. After the 
clown act Skip went round and collected them; 
he turned them over to Red—twenty-eight 
of them — and Red retired to read and to 
judge. 

Red’s face was a study as he sat in the side tent 
with a pad in front of him and a pencil behind his 
ear. Here was a situation that called for much 
diplomacy, and it is not strange perhaps that his 
thoughts wandered to Grace Overton with her 
blue eyes and golden curls. He could hear Skip 
in the big tent singing a lilting song of the South, 
the burden of which was, “ When Ah was in dat 
railroad wreck, who pried de engine off mah 
neck? ” 

When Skip had finished explaining for the 
third time that he had had to pry it off, himself, 
Red entered with his pad in hand and a crisp 
five-dollar bill in his buttonhole. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “ you will 
all be interested to hear the results of our little 
contest.” He glanced at his list. “ All the sug- 


98 


RED GILBERTS 


gestions that I have received are good—-yes, as¬ 
tonishingly good. Oddly enough, though, twelve 
of them are alike or nearly so. Twelve persons 
are agreed that our slogan should be: ‘ A whale 
of a show! ’ 55 

A low murmur accompanied by a few sup¬ 
pressed titters filled the tent. “ That,” con¬ 
tinued Red, “ is a mighty good line, but unfor¬ 
tunately there are better ones.” A few sighs fol¬ 
lowed the announcement. 

“ Four persons,” continued Red, “ think that 
‘ Honesty is the Best Policy ’ would be appro¬ 
priate. So it would, so it would! But since our 
policy is honesty above all things, we would pre¬ 
fer not to advertise it—that is, to boast about it. 
Now six persons suggested ‘ Twenty-five cents’ 
worth of fun ’—which strikes the judges as being 
altogether too modest.” 

A vigorous clapping of hands showed that the 
boys and girls, who had been admitted free, 
agreed perfectly with that remark. 

“ Two persons,” said Red, “ suggested* Come 
and laugh, 5 and three more suggested ‘ Laugh 
and learn, 5 both of which are mighty good, but, 
unfortunately for them, not so good—so the 
judges have decided—as that which Miss 


99 


FLYING CIRCUS 

Hortense Lee has suggested. Her slogan is: £ A 
Million Laughs per Minute!’ 

“ Will Miss Lee please step forward and ac¬ 
cept her prize? ” And Red pulled the expensive 
bouquet from his buttonhole. 

Amid loud applause a little girl with blue eyes 
and golden curls walked bashfully across the saw¬ 
dust ring. 

Skip nudged Pen, but, catching Red’s glance, 
pretended to scratch his arm. 

“ I take great pleasure,” said Red, handing 
Miss Hortense Lee the prize for a “ Million 
Laughs per Minute,” “ in presenting to you this 
greenback photograph of Abraham Lincoln. 
On the back at the left you will notice is a snap¬ 
shot of Columbus discovering America; on the 
right is a picture of the Pilgrims making a suc¬ 
cessful landing after the first non-stop flight 
across the Atlantic. May you soon discover the 
thing you want most of all, and then may you 
land it! ” 

Miss Lee bowed and blushed. The spectators 
clapped their hands and cheered. And Red 
stood there with the look of a man who has done 
a great thing. 

Nevertheless, Red was worried, and as soon as 



100 


BED GILBERTS 


the show was ended he called his companions to¬ 
gether. “ Here, Pen,” he said, handing the 
bookkeeper two dollars, “ this is our profit on the 
slogan contest.” 

“ Huh,” said Pen scornfully, “ what’ll we buy 
with it—peanuts? ” 

Red’s face brightened. “ By golly, that’s an 
idea! Yes, sir, we’ll buy peanuts and sell ’em at 
every performance hereafter. I thought we 
lacked something that every circus ought to have. 
But there’s something else I wanted to speak 
about. Has there been any word of the three 
cats? ” 

“ Not a syllable! ” exclaimed Pen gleefully. 

“ Well,” said Red, “ we’ve got to find them. 
They’re an important part of the show. We 
can’t afford to lose them.” 

“ You’re right,” said Skip, and Paul and Fred 
nodded. Pen only groaned. 

“ Now how are we going to find them? ” con¬ 
tinued Red. 

“ We might advertise and offer a reward,” 
Paul suggested. 

“ No, that wouldn’t do. By morning we’d 
have a hundred cats on our hands.” 

Pen grinned. “ Leave a bottle of milk outside 


FLYING CIRCUS 101 

the tent to-night, and in the morning you’ll find 
no cream on top. Then look for three cats with 
white whiskers and you’ll have Erick, Fritz and 
Clarence.” 

Red regarded him reproachfully. “ I think,” 
he said after a pause, “ we’d better hunt now 
while there’s still daylight. Come on, fellows, 
let’s clean up a bit and then start out—all except 
Pen; he can stay here and look after the tents.” 

So they set forth and separated at the main 
square. But the town of Union seemed to be 
quite catless. There were footprints in the mud 
round many of the back porches; there were cat 
hairs on many of the fences—footprints to right 
of them, cat hairs to left of them, but all the cats 
had fled. When the searchers returned Red 
looked discouraged for the first time since leaving 
Twin Rapids. 

The next morning the boys hired a tailor to 
sew up the tent properly, and the man did it so 
well that Pen was obliged to add eight dollars 
and seventy-five cents to the debit side of the 
ledger. Then after a few purchases, which set 
them back ten more dollars, the Flying Circus 
preened its wings and prepared to fly toward the 
distant town of Dirksville. 


102 


RED GILBERTS 


Red talked and laughed as he helped the others 
load the wagon and hitch the trailer on behind, 
but once the outfit was clear of the town, he re¬ 
lapsed into unaccustomed silence. Pen was on 
the driver’s seat, gleeful because they had lost the 
Three Musketeers; Red walked behind with 
Skip, chagrined because they had been unable to 
find them. 

“ Red,” said Skip at last, “ I’ve got that queer 
feeling again.” 

“ What queer feeling? ” 

“ Why, it’s the funniest thing, but I feel just 
the way I felt day before yesterday when the 
storm ripped things up so. I—I feel as if our 
jinx had returned.” 

Red lost his solemn look at once. “ You’re an 
old grandmother, Skip!” he exclaimed. “I’ve 
told you a hundred times there’s no such thing as 
a jinx.” 

“ I saw one once,” replied Skip. 

“ Then you must have been eating too much 
hot mince pie.” 

“ No, I hadn’t eaten any mince pie,” said Skip 
firmly. 

“Well, we won’t mince matters,” said Red. 
“ Tell me where you saw one.” 


FLYING CIRCUS 103 

Skip hesitated. “ Why—why, it was in the 
newspaper.’’ 

“ What part of the newspaper? ” 

“ Why—I don’t just remember.” 

“ Skip,” said Red, grinning, “ you saw it on 
the funny page, and you know you did! That’s 
the only place you’ll ever see a jinx.” 

Skip wasn’t convinced, but he knew better than 
to prolong an argument with Red; so he merely 
added that, jinx or no jinx, high jinx or low jinx, 
he had that queer feeling, and he couldn’t help it 
if he did! 

“ Well,” said Red, “ here’s a river. Hello, 
what’s happened to the bridge? ” 

“ It’s gone,” said Skip. “ See? ” 

Pen halted the team, and the boys looked with 
some dismay at the river ahead of them. The 
four stone pillars that had held the bridge were 
still standing, but the bridge itself, bent and 
twisted, lay half submerged a hundred yards 
down-stream. 

“ The jinx again,” muttered Skip. 

“I’d say it was high water that did.it,” re¬ 
marked Red. “ But there’s a fellow down there 
with a motor boat. Let’s see what he has to say.” 

Leaving Pen with the wagon, the four crossed 


104 


RED GILBERT 


a field and hurried down to the edge of the bank, 
where an old darky was sitting on a rock, mend¬ 
ing a fishing line. 

“ Good-day, sir,” said Red pleasantly. 

“ Howdy,” replied the old man, and the sun 
flashed on an imitation gold tooth. 

“ What happened to the bridge? ” 

“ Flood—two days ago. Mos’ powerful flood 
Ah ever see.” 

“ How do folks get across? ” continued Red. 

“ Ah takes ’em fo’ two bits in ma li’l boat.” 

“ But we have a team up on the hill.” 

“ Ah takes teamses fo’ a dollah.” 

“ Not in that little boat! ” 

Again the gold tooth flashed. “ Bless you’ 
soul, no. Ah got a raf’ yonder. It’s five mile 
up nor down to the nex’ bridge. Ah got a raf’. 
Ah charges one buck fo’ teamses.” 

Red glanced once at the raft, which lay partly 
hidden by a growth of rushes, and said: “ You’re 
the man for us!” 


CHAPTER IX 


The old darky saluted Red in his best Civil 
War manner. “ Ah’m yo’ man,” he said gravely. 
“ Yas, Ah’m yo’ man—for four bits an’ whatever 
else you all sees fit to give me.” 

“ Good,” said Red. “ Now you bring the raft 
up, and we’ll bring the team down.” 

“ Ah’m off lak a shot,” said the darky and 
strolled leisurely down toward his raft. 

Skip looked at Red with that dismal expression 
which only a person who thinks he is jinxed can 
assume. Then shaking his head sadly, he fol¬ 
lowed his companions up the hill to the wagon. 

“This way, Pen!” shouted Red. “The 
army’s going to embark down yonder at the land¬ 
ing.” 

“What, on that raft the fellow’s getting 
ready? ” 

“ Sure thing,” replied Red. “ We’re lucky 
not to have to swim or build another bridge! ” 

“Yip, yip!” cried Pen in genuine cowboy 
fashion. “Pike’s Peak or busted traces! 
Giddap, Duke! Giddap, Silverheels! ” 

105 


106 


RED GILBERTS 


Uncle George—that was the darky’s name— 
had poled the raft up alongside the motor boat 
by the time the spring wagon had made its dif¬ 
ficult way across the field and down to the edge of 
the river. An immense raft it was too and might 
well have ferried a house across. 

At sight of the wagon and trailer, both heaped 
high with equipment, and with the St. Bernard 
and the hairless hound on the front seat, the white 
mice swinging from their cage beneath the hood 
and Tut Ankh Amen, Jr., standing on one foot 
on a roll of canvas, Uncle George’s lower jaw 
dropped like a trap-door. “ Fo’ de land’s sakes! ” 
he exclaimed. “ Am All awake, or am Ah jest 
dreamin’ a dream? ” 

“ You’re wide awake, Uncle George,” said 
Red. “ This is Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus, and 
it’s going to be your privilege to help us on our 
way to Dirksville, where eager multitudes are 
waiting to receive us.” 

The trap-door came slowly back into place. 
Then- 

“ Let’s roll the dice! ” shrilled the parrot. 
“ Let’s roll the dice! ” 

The old man’s fingers twitched, and his eyes 
were a study in black and white. “ Dat am a 




FLYING CIRCUS 107 

intergent pirate yonder, scratchin’ he ear,” he 
said. “ Where you all come by him? ” 

“ He was born in Egypt,” said Pen. 

“ Therefore,” added Red, “ he can never be¬ 
come President, can you, Tut? ” 

“ Who in blazes wants to be President? ” re¬ 
plied the bird. “ Hurrah for Red Gilbert! ” 
Uncle George would have stood and listened 
all day, but Red thrust his garrulous pet inside 
the wagon. “ Now, fellows,” he said, “ let’s go 
aboard. Come on, Skippy, forget that jinx and 
skip over here. You’re wanted.” 

It was hard and delicate work, getting all the 
stuff aboard the raft; indeed to Uncle George it 
seemed quite impossible. But he didn’t know 
Red. First, under Red’s peerless leadership, the 
boys unhitched the horse and the jack; then they 
uncoupled the trailer and lifted some of the heav¬ 
iest stuff out of the spring wagon. 

“ Now,” said Red, “ Fred and Paul make a 
runway of those four heavy boards.” 

The two clowns laid the boards so that they 
stretched from the raft to the bank. Then Red 
took his place at the wagon tongue. 

“Everybody at the wheels,” shouted Red. 
" All ready? Now, as they say when the circus 


108 


RED GILBERTS 


comes to town, let’s go! Heave! That’s the 
gravy! Heave again!” 

Axle grease, not gravy, enabled the spring 
wagon to roll smoothly down the improvised 
gangplank. Little Mex on the front seat shiv¬ 
ered and looked up anxiously at King Richard, 
but the King remained dignified and unruffled; 
he had confidence in Sir Red of the Ready 
Wit. In a few minutes the wagon was on the 
raft, and the wheels were securely lashed to the 
logs. 

Then came the trailer—that was the cat’s roller 
skates; it rolled aboard like a can of peas, and 
then it, like the spring wagon, was lashed until 
it couldn’t move. The heavy stuff followed. 
Fred and Skip carried the big tent between them; 
considering all the wound stripes it bore, it de¬ 
served a little assistance. 

“ Now,” said Red, “ somebody give me a hand 
with Duke.” 

Pen offered both hands, and by dint of coaxing 
and pulling they finally got the big horse aboard 
and tied him to the wagon. He didn’t seem quite 
at ease, however, and cast frequent glances back 
at Silverheels, as if wondering why they should 
drown him and not the mule. 


FLYING CIRCUS 109 

“ Now for the jack,” said Red. “ He’ll be 
easy enough.” 

Had Red made a mistake ? Silverheels seemed 
to think so; his eyes rolled uneasily, and his long 
ears lay straight back like the hair of the young 
man in the collar advertisements. 

Red took hold of the bridle, and the mule 
showed his teeth; he was ten years old—you can 
tell by the rings. Pen went to help his leader, 
but changed his mind as Silverheels let him know 
that he was appropriately named. 

“ Why, Silverheels! ” cried Red reproachfully. 
“ To do a thing like that! Don’t you want 
to go on the picnic? Come on now — forward 
march! ” 

But the mule pulled back on the bridle and sat 
down on his haunches. He guessed he wasn’t 
an army mule! 

Then Pen also got hold of the bridle, and the 
two boys pulled as if they would yank the poor 
creature’s head from his neck. Now no one, not 
even a mule, likes to lose his head. So Silver¬ 
heels relaxed a bit and rose to all four feet so 
suddenly that Red and Pen sat down with a 
bang that rattled their teeth. 

But they were up again in an instant. “ Come 


110 RED GILBERTS 

on!” cried Red. “Pull! Altogether now— 
heave! ” 

Thereupon the mule sat down again; it was 
his turn, and he wasn’t going to be cheated out 
of it. 

“ Silverheels, you old fool! ” cried Red, strain¬ 
ing backwards on the bridle. “ Giddap! Now 
—here you come! That’s the boy! Oh, doggone 
a mule! ” 

“ Poor Noah! ” shrilled Tut from the wagon. 

“ Somebody,” said Uncle George, looking at 
Paul and Fred, “ might git behin’ an’ push.” 

The two clowns acted as if they didn’t hear. 
At heart they were just a little pleased to see that 
Red had at last started something that he prob¬ 
ably couldn’t finish. So was Skip. 

As for Pen, he let go the bridle. “No use. 
Red,” he said. “ We’ll have to unload the stuff 
and make Silverheels help pull it five miles to 
the next bridge.” 

“ Never! ” said Red between his teeth. Then 
like a good general he changed his tactics. “ Sil¬ 
verheels, old boy,” he said in a soothing voice, 
“ you’re acting like a donkey. What’s the mat¬ 
ter with you? Don’t you want to enter the ark? 
Maybe you’re hungry.” And he reached over 


FLYING CIRCUS 111 

and pulled some grass, which he held temptingly 
in front of the mule’s nose. 

Silverheels gobbled it, perhaps for the reserve 
strength it would give him, and rose to his feet. 

“ Hey, Skip,” Red called, “ untie Duke and 
bring him here.” 

“ What for? ” 

“ I’ve got an idea. Paul and Fred, separate 
those planks just a little.” 

Skip untied Duke and led him back to land. 

“ Now,” said Red, “ help me hitch the two nags 
together.” 

In a few minutes the horse and the mule were 
hitched side by side. Red took hold of the bridles 
and without a word to either animal calmly led 
them across the gangplank and on the raft. Sil¬ 
verheels made not the slightest protest. 

“Hurrah for Red Gilbert!” screamed the 
parrot. 

“ I was a dunce,” said Red, “ not to have 
thought of that before. Poor Silverheels was 
scared, all alone by himself. He’d lost confi¬ 
dence.” 

“ Some boy! ” muttered the darky admiringly. 

“ Are we all ready? ” asked Red. 

“ Ready in jest about one-fif’ of a second,” re- 


112 


RED GILBERTS 


plied Uncle George and, reaching into the lining 
of his old felt hat for his corn-cob pipe, began 
deliberately to fill it. 

Having taken about ten minutes to do that, he 
brought the motor-boat alongside, passed a heavy 
rope from the stern to the end of the raft and 
with many an intricate knot made it fast. Then 
he tinkered with the engine for ten more minutes, 
talking to it or to himself all the while. 

“ Got lots of gas? ” inquired Pen. 

“ Bless you’ heart, yes. Why, dat li’l tank 
yonder done hold twenty-five gallions. You all 
wouldn’t b’lieve dat, now would you? ” 

Pen replied that he wouldn’t, and he meant 
what he said; the tank couldn’t have held more 
than five. 

Zip! Spink! Putt — putt, putt — putt, putt! 
Uncle George jumped back as the engine started. 
“Eyah! Dat’s de baby! We’re off lak a 
shot! ” He seized the wheel, and just then Red 
shouted: 

“ Wait! Wait! Don’t start yet! ” 

All eyes turned on Red, who was standing at 
the side of the trailer, looking off toward the road. 
Then all eyes turned in the direction in which he 
was looking. And there they saw a strange sight 


FLYING CIRCUS 113 

'—a sight that made poor Pen sit down on the logs 
and cover his face with his hands. 

Coming down over a slight rise of ground, in 
single file, all in step and not glancing either to 
right or to left, were Erick, Fritz and Clarence 
and a strange cat that once had been white. No 
one aboard the raft spoke a word; no one 
could speak. The cats made no attempt to hurry; 
they didn’t even blink an eye when a sparrow 
flew low and used insulting language. Coming 
to a rock, Erick leaped calmly over it; Fritz fol¬ 
lowed him; Clarence followed Fritz, and Whitey 
followed Clarence. Then they all proceeded as 
evenly as before. 

“ Well, doesn’t that beat a carpet! ” cried Red. 
“ Say, are you cats playing follow-your-leader? 
Shake a leg now, or you’ll miss the boat! ” 

But not a cat shook a leg. Straight down the 
hill they came, paused for an instant on the bank 
and then sprang aboard the raft—one, two, three, 
four. Just like that! 

“ The criminals have all returned,” said Tut, 
winking knowingly at Uncle George. 

“ Red,” said Pen dismally, “ are you going to 
take ’em along—even that dirty powder puff they 
brought along? ” 


114 


RED GILBERTS 


“ Sure. Why not? I’m mighty glad to see 
them again. That’s right,” Red added to the 
three prodigals and their new-found friend, “ get 
into the wagon out of sight. Maybe we’ll kill 
the fatted rat for you—and maybe not.” 

The cats obeyed, but “out of sight, out of 
mind ” meant nothing to Pen, whose face grew 
longer every minute; and, strange to say, Skip 
began to regain his lost spirits. “ Where do you 
suppose the Three Musketeers have been?” he 
asked. 

“ Probably robbing babies of their cream,” re¬ 
plied Pen. 

“ No, I think you’re wrong, Penny,” said Skip. 
He held both hands out straight in front of him, 
and his face assumed its best fortune-telling look. 
“ Ah, what is this I see as in a dream? ” 

“ Ah don’t see nuffin,” said Uncle George, 
staring china-eyed across the river. 

“ Ah, I have it,” continued Skip. “ Yes, yes, 
it is clear now. I see three cats picking their way 
along the streets of Union, silent, stealthy and 
endowed with one fell purpose. Hah! What 
is that? A dog! Zip, he is dead—chewed to 
pieces! Two more dogs—zip, they will bark no 
more! Still another—zip, every dog has his day! 


FLYING CIRCUS 115 

Ha! What do I see now—four cats, not three; 
they are crossing a field toward a girls’ camp. 
Zip, a sudden rush! Hair-ribbons flying! 
Bobbed hair bobbing! Shrill cries of 6 1 want 
him for a pet! ’ The cats have turned. They are 

running—running-” 

Just then Uncle George forgot what he was 
doing and started the engine with a succession 
of loud reports—and Skip came out of his trance. 

“ Good for you, Skip,” said Red. “ I’m glad 
to see you’ve forgotten the jinx.” 

“ Don’t need a jinx to spoil things when there’s 
cats aboard,” said Pen dolefully. 

Uncle George’s “ li’l boat,” like one of those 
New York Harbor tugs that escort an ocean 
liner out from the pier, pulled the heavily laden 
raft toward mid-channel. And since there was 
nothing more exciting to do, Red found an outlet 
for his energy by painting the prize motto on a 
board, “ A Million Laughs per Minute ”—rather 
a large order even for a silly hyena. Skip was 
sitting on the wagon seat, humming the chorus 
of a new song that he was to try on Dirksville. 
Paul and Fred were holding the bridles of the 
mule and the horse respectively, and Pen was 
sitting near the trailer, thinking of cats. 



116 


RED GILBERT 


Red had just tacked the sign on the side of 
the wagon when the engine in the little motor- 
boat ceased to pop. 

“ Hello!” shouted Red. “ What’s wrong, 
uncle? ” 

“ Ah never knew it to fail,” replied the darky. 
“ Ever’ time Ah takes a party on de raf’ mah 
li’l boat plays ’possum.” 

Red grinned. “ Why didn’t you say so in the 
first place? ” 

The old man looked blank. “ Den you all 
wouldn’t of hired me,” he replied, showing that 
if necessary a preposition can be used also as a 
verb. 

“ Well, fix it quick,” said Red. “ We’re drift¬ 
ing.” 

“ Ah’ll have it fixed in two winks! ” said the 
old darky, and he went to work with hammer, 
screw-driver and greasy rag. 

It seemed to be a long time between winks. 
Uncle George pounded and pried and wiped, but 
the engine remained as dead as Tut’s great-great¬ 
grandfather. The bulky raft had turned in the 
current and, dragging the little boat, was drift¬ 
ing toward the gaunt pillars of the ruined bridge. 


CHAPTER X 

Pen was no longer thinking of cats; Skip’s 
humming had changed to a whistle, but it was 
astonishingly dry, and Paul and Fred were 
glancing nervously over their shoulders. Silver- 
heels, too, was nervous and was beginning to roll 
his eyes. 

“ Better hurry up there, Uncle George,” 
shouted Red. 

“ Jest one secon’,” replied the darky. 
“ ’Tain’t the carbon-eater; ’tain’t the gas; ’tain’t 
the oil; ’tain’t the li’l ol’ spark; ’tain’t the-” 

“ Well, what is it then? ” 

“ Dat’s jes’ what Ah can’t seem to dope out.” 

The middle pillar of the ruined bridge was only 
a score of yards off now, and they were heading 
straight for it. 

“ All hands prepare to fend off! ” shouted Red. 
“ You fellows had better stay with the nags,” he 
added to Paul and Fred. 

Pen and Skip joined Red at the forward end 
and waited anxiously. The raft had picked up 
considerable speed, and the pillar was only ten 
yards away. 


117 


118 


RED GILBERTS 


“ Sit down,” said Red, “ and be ready to break 
the force of the blow with your feet.” 

The three boys grasped the end logs and waited 
with legs outstretched. Five yards—three 
yards- 

“ ’Tain’t the perpeller shaf,” muttered Uncle 
George. “ ’Tain’t the-” 

Bang! The big raft trembled under the blow, 
and Silverheels let out a shrill cry, which Tut 
tried to imitate as soon as he had picked himself 
up. The cats howled, and the royal mice 
squeaked. Little Mex shivered so hard his blan¬ 
ket came off—and then he shivered worse than 
ever. 

Red, Skip and Pen, who had bounced a foot in 
the air at the impact, sprang up and pushed with 
all their strength against the stonework. The 
raft slewed round, scraped heavily against the 
pillar and continued on down-stream. Now there 
was another and greater danger; a hundred 
yards below and right in their course lay the 
partly submerged superstructure of the 
bridge. Among the bent and twisted struts 
and girders the river foamed and bubbled vin¬ 
dictively. 

“ Red, we’re lost! ” cried Pen. 


FLYING CIRCUS 


119 


“ Not yet! ” cried Red. “ Hey, Uncle George, 
hurry with that engine! Get it fixed! ” 

“ ’Tain’t th’ pistol rod,” replied the darky, 
taking a turn with the screw-driver. At that in¬ 
stant the engine popped twice. “ See, Ah done 
tol’ you ’tain’t the pistol rod! ” 

“ Skip,” said Red, “ do you know anything 
about gas engines? ” 

“ Not a thing. None of us does.” 

“ Hey, uncle, do you need any help? ” shouted 
Red. 

“ Oh, no. Ah’ll have her a-buzzin’ in less’n a 
secon’.” 

The remark was not very encouraging; there’s 
such a thing as being too optimistic. Red and his 
companions waited with fast-beating hearts and 
watched the white water ahead coming closer and 
closer. There seemed to be nothing they could 
do. Even Red, resourceful as he had proved to 
be so far, wasn’t a miracle man. What would 
happen when they struck the mass of wreckage? 
Would one of those upstanding girders scrape 
the wagon off? Or would they lodge securely 
in the tangle and starve to death like castaways 
on a desert island? 

Red had given up all hope of help from the 


120 


RED GILBERTS 


motor-boat. Standing at the front of the raft* 
he frowned and bit his lips; his shock of light 
hair stood up at half a dozen different angles as 
if under the strain of his busy mind. Wasn’t 
there something he could do? They were head¬ 
ing straight for the worst part of the stuff. Off 
to the left a few yards there was a break where 
apparently the iron was well under water—a nar¬ 
row but open channel. If they could only turn 
the raft a bit! 

“Skip! Pen!” Red whirled like a top. 
“ Our one and only chance! ” 

“ What is it? ” 

“ Fish out those two soap boxes from the 
wagon—quick! ” Then he ran to the other end 
of the raft; a glance over his shoulder told him 
that there were still about fifty yards of water 
between them and the submerged bridge. 

At the back of the raft he untied the rope that 
held the motor-boat; it had been tied right in the 
centre of the stern. In a moment he was at the 
right-hand corner with it, where he made it fast. 

At that instant Skip and Pen appeared with 
the two boxes; cat hairs on the inside showed 
who had been using them only a few moments 
before. 


the Worst Part of the Stuff 
















FLYING CIRCUS 121 

“ Get them into the water right here by this 
rope and hold hard! ” cried Red. 

Skip and Pen obeyed, but Skip looked up and 
asked: “ What for? ” 

“ They’ll act like a rudder,” replied Red, “ they 
and the motor-boat dragging on this side.” 

It was perfectly true, of course. The only 
question was, would they turn the raft enough? 
Red found a flat board that the cats had 
just chosen for a new bed and, using it as a 
paddle, took his place beside the two other helms¬ 
men. 

The raft was swinging to the left, ever so lit¬ 
tle, it is true, but the fact was a hopeful one. 

“Work hard, fellows!” cried Red, taking 
furious back-strokes with the cat’s bed. “ It’s 
sink or swim! ” 

Uncle George glanced up from the engine at 
that moment, and his eyes looked like a pair of 
black and white cuff-links. “ How come dat rope 
yonder? ” he asked. 

But Red had no time for answering questions. 
As he worked he watched the narrow opening 
toward which they were slowly swinging. 
Fifteen yards from the first bit of wreckage he 
uttered a shout of triumph. “We’ll make it! 


122 RED GILBERTS 

Stand ready to fend off! Paul and Fred, Hold 
those nags when we bump.” 

Swiftly the current bore them downward. 
The raft poked her nose into the channel and 
shivered as submerged pieces of iron scraped the 
bottom. Then she struck amidships on the left 
side and turned slowly to the right in answer to 
the thrust. A blow on the right side sent her 
back where she belonged; and so she glided, zig¬ 
zagging her way down-stream. On either side 
the water boiled white; on either side sharp bits 
of iron thrust up their strong grotesque arms as 
if reaching for one of the animals. Onward—■ 
onward the raft bumped and quivered and 
scraped. And then- 

“ Hurrah! ” cried the five boys. “ Safe! ” 

“ Safe! ” echoed the hollow voice of Tut Ankh 
Amen’s great-great-grandson from beneath the 
hood of the wagon. “ The umpire says so! Hur¬ 
rah for Red Gilbert! ” 

The boys glanced back at the motor-boat. 
Uncle George was on his knees in the bottom; his 
face was almost white, and he seemed to be trying 
to restore the color by mopping his forehead with 
the greasy rag. 

“ All right back there? ” shouted Skip. 



FLYING CIRCUS 123 

“ Ah—Ah don’t jest know. Ah’m won- 
derm’.” 

“Any chance of getting the engine fixed?” 
asked Red. 

Uncle George’s face brightened. “ Ah’ll have 
dat li’l oY engine fixed in two shakes of a ram’s 
tail.” 

But if it had been a long time between winks 
it was also a long time between shakes. Though 
Red and Pen and Skip did their best to steer the 
raft toward the opposite shore, the craft drifted 
three miles before Uncle George did the right 
thing, whatever it was, and the engine sputtered 
and then began to pop steadily. 

“ Ah done toY you! ” exclaimed the old darky 
triumphantly. 

“ Sure you did,” replied Red; “ but what’s that 
town down there by that other busted bridge? ” 

“ Dat am Fisher’s Landin’.” 

“ Let’s land there,” said Red, readjusting the 
rope leading to the launch. 

“ Suits me, suh.” And Uncle George swung 
wide; the raft followed, and in half an hour they 
were moored safe along the bank above the place. 

“ What was wrong with the boat, uncle? ” 
asked Paul. 


124 


RED GILBERTS 


“ Oh, nuffin—nuffin a-tall. Jest some li’l thing 
was wrong with the engine—engine trouble,” he 
added as if the phrase explained everything. 

“ Well, now to get the stuff ashore,” said Red. 
“ All together, boys.” 

Uncle George sat back and watched, and when 
wagon, trailer and all were on dry land he re¬ 
marked: “ Ah don’t know when Ah’ve had such 
fun. Ah likes to see folks work.” 

Red laughed. “ How much do we owe you? ” 

“ One buck,” replied the darky, “ jest one 
buck and whatever else you all sees fit to give 
me.” 

Red took a five-dollar bill from the strong-box 
and held it out to him. “ Here you are,” he said 
—and grandness and generosity fought for first 
place in his voice—“ keep the change. We’re ex¬ 
tremely obliged to you.” 

Off came the old man’s hat, and out came his 
hand. “ Oh, suh, Ah couldn’t think of takin’ all 
dat money! ” And his fingers closed on the bill. 

The last the boys saw of him he was on his way 
up to the village, probably to change the five into 
ones, the ones into halves, and the halves into 
quarters so as to have more silver to rattle. 

“ What do you say to showing here, Red? ” 


FLYING CIRCUS 125 

inquired Skip. It’s a good-looking town, and 
we can strike Dirksville to-morrow.” 

“ Just what I was thinking. How about the 
rest of you? ” 

“ Oh, all right, I guess.” 

“ Fred,” said Red, “ suppose you take some 
posters under your fat little arms and go forward 
and find a place to pitch the tents.” 

When Fred had gone the others sat down on 
a flat stone, and Pen looked at Red. “ Seems to 
me, Red,” he said slowly, “ we’ve had some ex¬ 
traordinary experiences since we left Twin 
Rapids.” 

At mention of Twin Rapids Red’s face took on 
a rather wistful, far-off look, and Skip began to 
whistle a bar from the “ Girl I Left Behind Me.” 
Red coughed and glanced quickly at Pen. 
“ What do you mean? I can’t seem to think of 
anything extraordinary.” 

“ You can’t? How about the runaway right 
at the start? How about landing in a deserted 
town? How about that girls’ camp affair? How 
about the storm at Union? How about this last 
little pleasure trip on a runaway raft? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Red. “ Those things 
aren’t so very unusual. Now supposing we’d all 


126 RED GILBERTS 

been killed in that runaway? Or the dead town 
had been a hiding-place for bandits? Or suppose 
those girls had all wanted to kiss us? Or light¬ 
ning had struck our horses at Union? Or the 
raft had sunk out there in mid-channel? Then 
we’d have had experiences worth while talking 
about! ” 

“ How could we talk about ’em if we’d all been 
killed or drowned? ” asked Pen. 

“ Oh, I didn’t say we'd talk about ’em,” re¬ 
plied Red with great composure. “ Other people 
can talk, can’t they? ” 

“ Engine fixed in less’n a secon’,” called the 
parrot as if to prove that he at least could talk. 

Pen was silent for a few moments. Then he 
said: “ Well, how about all the money we were 
to make? You said it would roll in! ” 

“ How much have we on hand? ” asked Red, 
suddenly serious. 

“Twenty-five dollars and twenty-five cents, de¬ 
ducting that last five you gave Uncle George— 
why you had to give him as much as that I don’t 
know; he’d have been satisfied with one dollar 
and a dime for a tip.” 

Red’s face showed plainly what he thought of 
such niggardliness. 


FLYING CIRCUS 127 

“ Pen/’ said Paul, “ you haven’t made some 
mistake in your books, have you? ” 

“ Of course not! ” 

“ Well, in that case,” said Red, “ we’ve got to 
hustle.” 

“Well,” replied Pen, “ I hope this is a good 
open-hearted, open-handed town.” 

“ So do I! ” added Paul and Skip. 

“ Yes,” said Red, “ I hope so, too! ” 

And just then Fred returned with all of his 
posters under his arm. “ Fellows,” he cried al¬ 
most savagely, “ we can’t show here! The town 
authorities won’t allow it.” 


CHAPTER XI 


“ The town authorities won’t allow us to put 
on our show? ” inquired Red skeptically. 

“ That’s it in an egg-shell,” replied Fred, 
throwing down his posters. 

“ Who told you that? ” demanded Red. 

“A policeman—a big fellow too! He said 
there’s a town ordinance against it.” 

“ Oh, doggone the doggone luck! ” cried Pen 
and Skip. 

“ It’s an ironic stroke of Fate,” said Paul, re¬ 
membering the phrase from a book he had once 
read. 

“ It gets my goat,” added Fred. 

Then they all looked at Red, who began to 
laugh. “ Fellows,” he said, “ I don’t believe 
much in luck or Fate or goats. We’ll put our 
show on this afternoon.” 

“ How so, if they won’t let us? ” 

“ Take the posters, Fred, and come with me,” 
replied Red. “ Skip, you take charge and bring 
the outfit forward.” 

“ But, Red-” 


128 


RED GILBERT 129 

“ Oh, don’t worry,” said Red. “ Just do as I 
say. Come on, Fred.” And he started up the 
hill. 

“ I don’t see how you’re going to do it,” 
growled Fred, following like a dog. 

Red paused and, taking one of the posters, 
tacked it on a tree. 

When they reached the town he tacked two 
more on a fence, and grinned to himself as he 
watched the people stop to read. 

“ Red, you’re going to get us all in trouble,” 
said Fred gloomily. 

Red tacked up a few more posters by way of 
reply. 

“ You’re going to get us all in jail,” said Fred, 
going naturally from bad to worse. “ See, look! 
I told you! Here comes that same cop! ” 

Red finished tacking up another poster just as 
the big policeman arrived. “ See here,” said the 
officer, “ we don’t allow any vagabonds to put on 
shows in this town. Didn’t I tell you that? ” He 
looked sternly at Fred, who looked as guilty as 
he felt. 

“ We’re not going to show inside the town,” 
replied Red politely. “ We plan to pitch our 
tents in the field yonder beyond the town limits.” 


130 


BED GILBERTS 


“ Oh,” said the officer. “ But what about these 
posters? ” 

“ We’ll tear ’em down if you say,” replied Red. 

“ H’m. Yes, I guess you’d better.” 

“ Run back and rip them off, Fred,” said Red. 
“ Tear ’em down and then tear ’em up.” 

Fred was only too glad to get away. 

“ I suppose there’s no objection to our show¬ 
ing over there in the field, is there? ” continued 
Red a few minutes later. 

“ No, hut see that you don’t try any funny 
business.” 

For a moment Red looked really pained; then 
he smiled, and just then too the wagon appeared 
over the hill. Red waved to Skip, who was driv¬ 
ing; then he turned to the officer again. “ I want 
to be perfectly sure everything is all right,” he 
said. “ We’ve never broken a law intentionally, 
and we don’t aim to do so now.” 

“ You’re all right so long as you don’t try any 
funny business,” reiterated the officer. “ Just re¬ 
member that.” 

Red nodded gravely as if he quite understood. 
“ Have you any youngsters? ” he inquired. 

“ Six—all boys.” 

“ If they care to see our show,” said Red 


131 


FLYING CIRCUS 

casually, “ they’re welcome free of charge. Just 
have them ask for Mr. Redfield Gilbert.” 

The officer replied that his six boys were a 
whole circus in themselves, but that perhaps they 
might enjoy seeing others perform for once. 

By that time the outfit was close at hand, and 
Red said good-by to the officer, whose name was 
Clubber, and joined Pen and Paul behind the 
trailer. 

“ What’s the idea, Red? ” asked Pen in a voice 
full of wonder. 

“ We’ll just march through the town,” replied 
Red, “ and put on our show outside the limits.” 

“ Huh,” said Pen, “ funny I didn’t think of 
that, myself.” 

“ You’ve got enough to do thinking of the 
books,” replied Red sympathetically. 

Down the main street moved the Flying Circus 
between fast-gathering spectators at either curb. 
Old Duke lifted his legs a little higher than usual 
and tossed his head like a thoroughbred. Silver- 
heels flapped his long ears back and forth as if 
he were about to fly. Skip and the St. Bernard 
and the hairless hound on the front seat looked 
as if each were trying to see who could sit the 
straighter. At the back of the wagon swung the 


132 


RED GILBERTS 


royal mice, quite oblivious of the four pairs of 
feline eyes that were gleaming at them from the 
semi-darkness below the hood; and on the trailer 
with feathers all ruffled and eyes as bright as beads 
sat the parrot staring curiously at the crowds 
and remarking from time to time: “ So this is 
Paris! ” 

It was the best kind of advertising, that slow 
and stately march through the town. There was 
no need of posters; there was no need of a brass 
band. Boys and girls joined arms and followed 
in the rear, like rats behind the Pied Piper; by 
the time Red called a halt in an open field well 
beyond the last house there was a crowd large 
enough to have elected a new mayor—say in a 
dozen years when they had all reached the voting 
age. And in the crowd were six boys that Red 
at once spotted. 

They ranged in age from perhaps five to four¬ 
teen, and if they had all stood in a row, their heads 
would have made a perfect flight of stairs. They 
all had astonishingly large feet and hands, and 
each carried a stick with a piece of string tied to 
it and wrapped round his wrist. Of course they 
were the six young Clubbers. 

Red called the oldest to him. The boy pulled 


FLYING CIRCUS 133 

his cap down over his eyes and advanced as if he 
were on his way to a fire; his five brothers ad¬ 
vanced right at his heels. 

“ You’re Mr. Clubber’s boys, aren’t you? ” said 

Red. 

“ Yep,” replied the oldest. 

“ Do you want to see our show? ” 

“ Yep,” replied all six Clubbers. 

“ Well,” said Red, “ all you’ll have to do is to 
stand inside the tent during the performance and 
sort of see that the spectators don’t make any 
trouble. That ought to be easy.” 

The oldest Clubber twirled his stick rapidly. 
“ If anyone starts any funny business,” he said 
emphatically, “ we’ll knock him for a goal! ” 

“ Knock him for a row of goals,” added the 
youngest, twirling his stick. 

“ That’s the spirit,” said Red. 

In five minutes the company were hard at work 
putting up the tents. And as they worked, the 
young Clubbers divided forces and stalked im¬ 
portantly up and down in front of the onlookers, 
just to make sure that no one “ started any funny 
business ” before the show began. 

Meanwhile Paul had gone back to the town; 
when he returned he carried a sack of peanuts and 


134 


RED GILBERTS 

a package of paper bags, which he began to fill 
and sell for five cents apiece. 

When the tents were up things looked prom¬ 
ising. Red had on his high silk hat and carried 
his long whip at a professional angle. Skip was 
arrayed in his flowing robes, and soon the money 
was flowing into the small tent in response to his 
glimpses of the future. He invited the Clubbers 
to come and have their fortunes told, but the old¬ 
est replied that he didn’t dare leave his beat or 
allow any of his “ men ” to go either. However, 
they all accepted a little graft in the form of 
peanuts, which they ate slyly* as if afraid of being 
caught at it. 

Then Red slapped the side of the big tent with 
his whip and began to bark: “ Step right up, 
ladies and gentlemen. The greatest show on 
earth including Fisher’s Landing. Don’t be 
bashful, ladies; the gents have the money. That’s 
right, step inside. A million laughs per minute 
—and the shows lasts an hour and a half. Figure 
it out for yourselves! I leave it to you, ladies 
and gentlemen! ” 

“ Fred,” said Paul as with brush and paint the 
two were making clowns of themselves behind a 
curtain in the small tent, “ it looks to me as if 


FLYING CIRCUS 135 

we’re going to make a successful go of it this 
time.” 

“ That’s how I feel, Paul,” said Fred. “ Noth¬ 
ing can possibly upset things this time.” 

It must be remembered that Fred and Paul 
were both clowns; their opinions therefore were 
superficial—a bit like vaseline on a creampuff. 
Another surprise was in store for the Flying 
Circus—and out under the hood of the wagon 
Whitey, the fourth cat, was thinking it over. 


CHAPTER XII 


Now Whitey wasn’t a blue-ribbon cat by a 
jugful; his history was very doubtful. He had 
been born—somewhere, and he was hungry. He 
had moved—somewhere, and he was hungry. He 
had grown into cathood—and he was hungry. 
He had run away from home to make his for¬ 
tune—and he was hungrier than ever. Then he 
had joined the Musketeers—and he was still hun¬ 
gry. That is Whitey’s history, and as he lay 
there in the wagon he was pondering the eternal 
problem, how should he keep his ribs from be¬ 
coming too familiar with one another? 

He heard Red Gilbert in the big tent make 
his opening speech, heard the cheers and hand¬ 
clapping that followed it. He heard Skip sing 
three or four songs and then heard him sing his 
new composition as an encore. Whitey didn’t 
like it, and no wonder, for it ran like this: 

u Little cat, all black and white, 

I’d love you if you’d treat me right. 

I’d buy you catnip by the yard 
And grease your little throat with lard. 

136 


RED GILBERT 


137 


But pussy, dear, all white and black, 

I hate the way you stroke my back; 

So, little cat, all black and white, 

I think I’ll drown you—just for spite ! 99 

The roar of applause that shook the tent 
showed Whitey just how popular cats were; and 
so he resumed his pondering. He was gloomier 
than ever; not knowing that all the animals 
would be fed right after the show, he thought 
perhaps the circus men intended to starve him. 
And so his mind turned to thoughts of food 
again. 

He heard the two clowns slapping merrily 
away at each other, urged on by the shrill cries 
of the parrot. Then Pen came to the wagon 
and, waking Erick, Fritz and Clarence, carried 
them off to do their stunt. 

Whitey got up and stretched himself. He had 
decided to run away again, but as he jumped 
down from the wagon the first thing he spied 
was a large can that once had contained salmon. 
It was an old can, but remember Whitey was 
pretty hungry. He made a savage rush for it 
and thrust his head inside. To his horror and 
consternation the thing stuck; he couldn’t with¬ 
draw his head. Talk about a chicken with its 


138 


RED GILBERTS 


head cut off—a cat with its head fast in a salmon 
can is much worse! 

Poor Whitey started to run, but stopped short 
as the can clanked against a stake. Lying on 
his back in the dirt, he clawed at the gold-fish 
can with all four feet. No use at all! He turned 
half a dozen somersaults in rapid succession. He 
spat; he snarled; he caterwauled—all of which 
was so much canned music. 

At that moment the youngest Clubber, at¬ 
tracted by the noise, issued forth from beneath 
the side of the tent; his cap was pulled down over 
his eyes—so far down in fact that he tripped on 
one of the many ropes and sprawled half a yard 
from poor Whitey with his tin gas mask. Up 
sprang the cat and started away like a spitball 
from a rubber band. Up sprang young Clubber 
and, heedless of a rather prominent nosebleed, 
started after the cat. 

Whitey struck the side of the tent, bounced 
back and then sprang blindly upward. His sharp 
claws sank into the canvas, and up, up, up he 
went—up the side, then up the sloping top to 
the end of the pole. For the moment he was safe. 

Young Clubber was vexed; a culprit had es¬ 
caped his clutches. For a few moments he stood 


139 


FLYING CIRCUS 

frowning up at the cat, which was trying to get 
the can off and at the same time keep from fall¬ 
ing through the opening in the canvas round the 
pole. Then the young sleuth gravely took a brass 
key from his pocket, blew on it to cool it and held 
it at the back of his neck—a sure cure for nose¬ 
bleed, if you hold the key there long enough. 
But young Clubber was an impatient lad; after 
a few moments of vain waiting he put the key 
into his pocket and applied a handkerchief to his 
nose. Then, doubtless with some great idea in 
his active young mind, he started inside the tent. 

Red was holding a hoop, through which the 
Three Musketeers were jumping one after an¬ 
other. The big St. Bernard and the little hair¬ 
less hound were sitting on a box side by side, 
watching the performance, and the parrot was at 
his favorite pastime of praising Red Gilbert and 
insulting the cats. The spectators were leaning 
forward eagerly, applauding frequently as the 
cats went through the hoop at difficult angles. 
And just then young Clubber with one hand over 
his nose and the other twirling his stick strode 
inside and walked to the tent pole. 

“ Hey, what’s the matter? ” exclaimed Red, 
startled at sight of the young sleuth’s face. 


140 


RED GILBERTS 


The boy’s answer was to seize the pole with 
both hands and shake it till he looked as if he had 
half a dozen heads and a dozen hands. The spec¬ 
tators were abruptly silent; then they gasped. 

Whitey was shaking at the can of salmon when 
the boy began to shake the pole. The result was 
inevitable. The cat lost his balance and cata¬ 
pulted downward; he bounced off the boy’s chest, 
turned a somersault and began to run. 

Some of the girls screamed. King Richard 
began to bark, and little Mex began to shiver. 
It was terrible! 

Round and round the ring raced the canned 
cat, bumping into benches, clawing indiscrimi¬ 
nately at patent leather pumps and silk stockings. 
Round and round raced the youngest Clubber, 
followed closely by his five brothers. Then the 
boy fell. When he got to his feet he was half a 
lap behind; so he turned and ran the other way. 

And that was the end. As Whitey came round 
again the boy waited and, dropping to his knees, 
gathered the runaway into his arms. In a mo¬ 
ment he had removed the cat’s false face. 

The spectators drew a long breath. Some of 
the girls who had been on the point of having 
hysterics changed their minds and reached for 


FLYING CIRCUS 141 

their powder puffs with the little mirrors inside. 
“ It’s a shame to treat a ninercent cat like that! ” 
exclaimed one girl. “ It’s that Red Gilbert,” 
said another; “ he’s too fresh! ” And there were 
other remarks too! 

Holding Whitey by the slack of the neck, young 
Clubber advanced toward Red, who with misgiv¬ 
ings had been listening to some of the unflatter¬ 
ing remarks about himself. “ Mr. Gilbert,” said 
the boy, “ here’s the cat. What’ll I do with it, 
take it out an’ drowned it? ” 

“Shame! Shame!” sounded several voices. 
“ Shame on you, Red Gilbert! ” 

With a face as solemn as a judge’s Red took 
the cat from the boy and thanked him. “ Go out 
to the side tent,” he said in an undertone, “ and 
ask the fortune teller for a can of condensed milk 
and a saucer; then bring them to me.” 

The boy walked out like a striking bricklayer. 
“ Ladies and gentlemen,” said Red, mounting 
his keg and holding the cat as tenderly as if it 
were a baby, “ I want to say first of all that this 
unfortunate incident was not a part of our show 
—at least not a prearranged part. I know that 
some of the ladies were startled, perhaps even 
frightened-” 



142 


RED GILBERTS 


There were a few loud contemptuous sniffs on 
the part of several girls who had been well on 
their way toward hysterics. 

“ I am sorry for them,” continued Red, strok¬ 
ing Whitey’s back, “ but I am more sorry for the 
cat. Poor Whitey! ” he added, stroking the cat 
very tenderly. 

“ Hot dog!” exclaimed a small boy near the 
entrance. 

Red looked at him sternly. All five Clubbers 
turned and glared at the offender and then 
glanced inquiringly at Red; but Red stayed 
them with a movement of his hand. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” he continued, “ little 
Whitey here is the newest member of our circus. 
Yesterday he was homeless, utterly destitute, 
living on scraps from the garbage heap, kicked 
about from pillar to post, and then back again 
from post to pillar. A pathetic creature surely! 
He had developed thieving ways; he had learned 
a thousand and one bad habits and was going 
rapidfy from bad to worse. Out of pity I gave 
him a home.” 

Two of the girls sighed, and with a little sat¬ 
isfied feeling Red moistened his lips and con¬ 
tinued: “ I said I gave him a home, but really 


FLYING CIRCUS 


143 


the whole credit belongs, not to me, but to three 
of our most talented performers, namely Erick, 
Fritz and Clarence, whom you have just seen 
jump through the hoop. In their wanderings— 
for we allow our animals to go and come pretty 
much as they please—they happened upon this 
poor, destitute, wayward creature. All three as 
you have seen are highly intelligent, and you can 
well imagine the compassion they felt for him. 

They brought him home with them- Oh, 

ladies and gentlemen, if you could only have seen 
how willingly he came! ” 

A little murmur of sympathy rippled through 
the audience, and not all of it was for Whitey. 

“ How the poor little thing got its head caught 
in a tin can,” continued Red, “ is more than I 
can say. Probably we’ll never know.” 

Just then the youngest Clubber entered with 
an opened can of condensed milk in one hand 
and an empty saucer in the other. 

“ Ah,” said Red, “ that’s the boy. Now run 
and get a spoon.” 

The boy went out and returned immediately, 
and Red sat down on the keg. Holding the cat 
firmly under his left arm, he balanced the saucer 
in his lap. Filled with his own importance. 



RED GILBERTS 


144 

young Clubber poured the milk into the dish, 
and Red ladled up a spoonful. Then began the 
funniest performance of the day. 

Tears and laughter are pretty close neighbors, 
and no one knew it better than Red. As Whitey 
lapped the first spoonful all the girls except one, 
who was having a rather bad case of hiccoughs, 
exclaimed: “ Ah, just see that now! How cun¬ 
ning! ” 

Then, having sympathized, they were ready to 
laugh. The third spoonful Red offered he tipped 
a little more than was necessary, and Whitey 
emerged with white whiskers all dripping and 
joined together so that they looked like a little 
spider’s web. 

Spasmodic laughter filled the great tent, 
punctuated by frequent hiccoughs from the girl 
who had them. 

Another spoonful and Whitey could have 
caught flies without opening his mouth. More 
laughter and louder hiccoughs. Then as Red 
gravely drew forth his pocket handkerchief and 
began carefully to mop off the cat’s face it looked 
for a few moments as if all the spectators would 
laugh themselves into convulsions. 

Red was popular again, and he knew it. For 


FLYING CIRCUS 


145 


fully twenty minutes he continued to feed the cat 
with a spoon. Then something happened that 
added to everyone’s delight except that of the 
youngest Clubber. As he was kneeling beside 
Red and preparing to pour more milk into the 
half-filled saucer he accidentally knocked the 
dish off Red’s lap into his own. 

“ Eyah! ” he cried in disgust, springing to his 
feet and looking helplessly at the milk, which was 
running, or rather crawling, down his pants’ leg. 

That was too much for the spectators. They 
howled and screamed. The boys especially were 
so pleased that they had to punch one another in 
the ribs. The girl with hiccoughs got up and 
ran screaming and hiccoughing from the tent, 
closely followed by two others, who had caught 
the malady and seemed bent on keeping it. 

Red with his handkerchief did as much for the 
young sleuth as he had done for the cat, and Pen 
came in with a basin of water to add to the trou¬ 
bled situation. As he mopped and sponged, Red 
took the opportunity to carry the cat back to the 
wagon. Whitey had done enough for his coun¬ 
try for one afternoon! 

At the end of the show, which came after 
Creampuff and Vaseline had again made life mis- 


146 


RED GILBERTS 


erable for each other, Red slipped outside and 
watched the crowd as they issued from the tent; 
and he said to himself that the performance had 
been tremendously successful. Some of the peo¬ 
ple were whistling bars from the songs that Skip 
had sung; some were imitating the antics of the 
two clowns; but most of them were laughing over 
the incident of the cat, the condensed milk and 
“ that fresh little Clubber cub,” who had allowed 
the milk to sit in his lap. Yes, the performance 
had been highly successful, but Red shuddered as 
he thought how close it had come to being other¬ 
wise. 

Pen was counting the money in the small tent; 
there seemed to be a great deal of it—so much in¬ 
deed that he felt discouraged and rather weak as 
he thought of balancing it. Well—“ Twenty- 
five and ten is thirty-five and twenty is-” 

“ Cheer up, Pen,” said Fred, scraping away at 
the paint on his face; “ it’s good practice for your 
make-up exam in the fall.” 

“ And twenty is—is eighty-five—and fifty 
is-” 

“ Funny about Red and the cat,” said Paul. 
“ Huh, Pen? ” 

“ Uh-hu; and fifty is three dollars and thirty- 




FLYING CIRCUS 


147 


five.” Pen scratched his head and entered the 
amount in his book. “ Guess that’s right. Now 
fifteen and fifteen are thirty and five-” 

“ Gee, that looks like a lot of money, Pen! ” 

“ Makes forty-five. Say, you guys be quiet, 
will you? ” 

All of which goes to show that when it came 
to bookkeeping Pendleton Clark could carry a 
hod with the best of them. 

By the time Skip had gone into the town and 
had returned with supplies the clerical work was 
in awful shape. Even Red couldn’t straighten 
it out; at least he said he couldn’t do it before 
midnight, and that he didn’t intend to stay up so 
late as that. 

“ Let’s all turn in, fellows,” he said. “ We 
want to reach Dirksville early to-morrow.” 

As the boys were spreading their blankets there 
came a slap, slap on the side of the tent. 

“ Who is it? ” asked Red. 

The flap lifted a trifle, and there stood the 
oldest Clubber. “ Mr. Gilbert? ” he inquired. 

“ Keerect! ” replied Red. “ Now what? ” 

“ I was passin’,” said the boy, “ and I heard 
you say something about showing at Dirksville 
to-morrow. I came to warn you not to.” 



148 


RED GILBERT 


The boy hesitated a moment, and Red rose 
and went outside. “ Tell me what’s wrong,” he 
said in a low voice. 

The oldest Clubber looked wise; then he whis¬ 
pered something in Red’s ear. 

“ You don’t say so! ” exclaimed Red. 

“Yep. It’s so—ab-so-lute-ly! You’d bet¬ 
ter not show there.” 

“ Well,” said Red slowly, “ I’m glad you told 
me. Here, as the Irish soldier said when he threw 
the grenade, divide this among you.” And the 
bill that Red slipped into the boy’s hand crackled 
to the tune of five dollars—which probably meant 
that one of the six Clubbers would be out of luck 
on the division. 

“What’s wrong, Red?” demanded his com¬ 
panions when he reentered the tent. “ Why 
oughtn’t we to show at Dirksville? ” 

Red merely shrugged his shoulders. “ We’ll 
show at Dirksville to-morrow all right,” he said 
and flung himself on his blankets. 


CHAPTER XIII 


The parrot was the first one awake the fol¬ 
lowing morning. He combed his hair with a 
shake of his head. He washed his face by brush¬ 
ing his wing across it once. Cleaning his teeth 
was simple—he didn’t have any. Having com¬ 
pleted his modest toilet, he imitated a bugle and 
began to blow reveille. Then he began to talk; 
he had learned some new words the day before: 

“Pen, you dumb-bell! Oh, gee, I can’t 
straighten the accounts! Money, money, money 
—oh, what a mixed up mess! ” 

Pen awoke and glared at him; he had been 
dreaming of his muddled accounts all night long. 
“ Shut up, you fool bird! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Shut up, yourself! ” replied Tut. 

Pen was reaching for his shoe when Red 
opened his eyes and yawned. 

“ Saved! ” cried the parrot. “ Good-morning, 
Red!” 

“ Good-morning, Tut,” replied Red gravely. 
Then, “ Everybody up! Come on, fellows, shake 
a leg! ” 

“ Shake a leg! ” shrilled the parrot. 

149 


150 


BED GILBERTS 


And so began another day for Red Gilbert’s 
Flying Circus. 

“ Now, Pen,” said Red, “ let me go over those 
accounts while the rest of you cook breakfast and 
feed the animals.” 

“ Want any help? ” asked Pen. 

“ No,” said Red, and he meant it. 

He sat down on one of the benches and, open¬ 
ing the strong-box, began to count the money. 
Then he went over Pen’s figures. In fifteen 
minutes he had everything straight—all of which 
is proof of what a good night’s sleep will do for 
a fellow. 

“ Well, boys,” said Red as he ate his breakfast 
with the others, “ yesterday was a great day. 
I’m here to announce that we have a surplus of 
one hundred and six dollars and fifteen cents! 
Though of course we owe Judge Mudge that 
hundred.” 

“ Hurrah! ” cried Skip. “ Oh, boy, we’re on 
our feet at last! ” 

“I can already see that bath-house!” said 
Paul. 

“Red, you’re some little banker!” said Pen 
admiringly. “ How did you figure it all out so 
quickly? ” 


FLYING CIRCUS 


151 


“ Oh, just by adding correctly,” replied Red, 
and Pen’s face and neck turned crimson—fortu¬ 
nately, he didn’t have on a celluloid collar. 

Fisher’s Landing was rubbing the sleep out of 
its tired eyes when the wagon and trailer pulled 
out of the field and started south toward Dirks- 
ville. No one was on hand to wave farewell, not 
even the energetic Clubbers. Probably they were 
fighting over the five-dollar bill. 

Red was uncommonly silent as he hiked along 
beside Pen behind the trailer. Pen glanced at 
him frequently; there was always something in 
the wind when Red wouldn’t talk. Pen was wor¬ 
ried. 

“ Say, Red,” he asked at last, “ what in Bag¬ 
dad is the matter with you? What did that kid 
say to you last night? Why did he warn us not 
to show at Dirksville? And if something’s 
wrong, why are we going there? ” 

“ Pen, old boy,” said Red solemnly, “ I think 
you’d make a better lawyer than a bookkeeper.” 

And that was all the satisfaction Pen or any¬ 
one else could get. 

Finally Red’s mouth twisted into an odd little 
smile; he had run down his idea at last, had 
backed it into a corner and then had swallowed 


152 


RED GILBERTS 


it. Two minutes afterward he had thoroughly 
digested it. He turned now to Pen. “ It’s a 
great day, don’t you think? ” 

“ Well, by gosh, it’s about time you came out 
of your shell, you old crab! ” 

Red grinned. “ There’s a town at the foot of 
the hill,” he remarked. “ Tell Paul to watch his 
brakes and go slow; it’s a bad road. We don’t 
want to arrive like a prairie schooner chased by 
Indians.” 

In response to the warning Paul pulled the 
nags in and applied his brakes even more than 
was necessary. As a result half-way down Sil- 
verheels balked and let fly both feet in the di¬ 
rection of Paul’s chin. 

“Wait a minute!” cried Red, running for¬ 
ward. “ No, don’t use the whip! ” 

But Paul was a hot-tempered clown. No one, 
not even a mule, was going to try to kick him in 
the chin and get away with it. Down came his 
whip on the place to which the mule’s hind legs 
were attached. 

Swish! Away started Silverheels on a mad 
run. Sque-e-e-ak! sounded the brakes. Then, 
bang! Cra-a-ck! And mule, horse, wagon, 
trailer and everything stopped short. 


FLYING CIRCUS 153 

“ Oh! ” cried Red. 44 Paul, you boob, now 
you've gone and done it! ” 

Fred and Pen and Skip sent up a groan and 
dropped disgustedly in the ditch beside the road. 
Paul sprang from his seat. “ What do you 

mean—boob! What have I gone and done-” 

He was abruptly silent. There was his an¬ 
swer. In front of him the rear of the covered 
wagon sagged like a porch hammock on a moon¬ 
light night. The back axle had snapped! 

The silence that followed was more eloquent 
than a thousand shrieking cats. But all silences 
must be broken, and Pen was the destructive lad 
in this case. 44 One hundred and six dollars and 
fifteen cents to the good,” he said almost tear¬ 
fully, 44 and then a thing like this has to happen! 
Paul, you ought to be boiled in oil and then be 
heaved over a cliff; you’re no good.” 

44 Huh,” said Paul, 44 how about the mule? ” 

44 There’s only one mule here,” replied Pen 
witheringly, 44 and I just said what ought to be 
done to him.” 

44 Huh,” said Paul , 44 maybe-” 

44 Never mind,” Red interrupted him. 44 For¬ 
get about the cause. This is just another unfor¬ 
tunate accident.” 


154 


RED GILBERTS 


“ So unfortunate,” added Pen, “ that it’ll prob¬ 
ably set us back a hundred bucks! ” 

“ In that case,” said Red, laughing, “ we’ll still 
be six dollars and fifteen cents to the good. Come 
on, Pen, you and I will go down to the Tillage 
and see if we can find someone to fix the thing. 
Better unhitch the nags, Skip.” 

Fortunately, the village boasted a carpenter 
shop, and the carpenter, when Red and Paul 
found him and told him of their trouble, boasted 
that he could fix anything that was broken—ex¬ 
cept of course an engagement. 

“ Where’s your wagon, and how bad is the 
axle broke? ” he asked, picking up his kit of tools 
as a doctor would pick up his medicine case. 

“ Just outside of town,” replied Red. “ But 
first, how much will it cost? ” 

“ Young feller,” replied the man solemnly, 
“ there ain’t another carpenter in town, and there 
ain’t another town in six miles. I’ve got what ye 
might call a monopoly.” 

“ And therefore,” said Red, “ you can charge 
what you please.” 

“ Presactly—but I’ll try an’ be fair.” The 
man’s tone suggested that it might be pretty 
hard. 


FLYING CIRCUS 1 55 

“Ah-ha!” he exclaimed, on reaching the 
wagon. “ A busted axle! ” 

“Right the first time!” said Red under his 
breath. “ I picked the right man! ” 

“Now just let me overhaul the whole wagon. 
A busted axle usually means a few sprung 
spokes. Yep, just what I thought. And a 
sprung spoke often means a strained hub—yep, 
two of ’em. And a strained hub many times 
means a sagging spring—yep, see how that 
spring yonder sags like it was tired? A sagging 
spring nine cases out o’ ten means a loose body— 
yep, see? What did I tell ye? And a loose body 
—yep, just as I thought. My, my, yer wagon’s 
in bad shape! Just let me give it a thorough ex¬ 
amination.” 

Indeed having the broken axle fixed was much 
like going to the dentist’s to have a cavity filled; 
before the carpenter was through examining he 
had found a score of things that needed repair. 
“ Now how about yer trailer? ” he asked. “ I’d 
better inspect it.” 

“ The trailer is all right,” said Red quickly. 

“Ye never can tell till ye look,” replied the 
man. “ Folks ought to have their furniture and 
stuff looked at every six months, just like a sen- 


156 


RED GILBERTS 


sible person goes to the sawbones twice a year 
whether he feels sick or not.” 

“ The trailer is in perfect health,” said Red. 

The carpenter looked doubtful; nevertheless 
he went to work on the broken axle. He ham¬ 
mered and banged for a few minutes; then he had 
everyone unload the wagon. After that he sent 
Fred and Paul to the village to fetch a jack and 
a new axle from his shop. By the time they re¬ 
turned Red and the others had pitched the small 
tent under a convenient tree. 

“ Now,” said the carpenter, “ you boys give 
me a hand and help me jack her up and take off 
the wheels. That’s the way.” 

When the jack, not to mention Fred and Paul 
and Skip, had lifted the wheels clear of the 
ground the man spat on his hands. “ Say,” he 
demanded, “ what kind of a outfit is this? Looks 
to me like a circus. Are ye going campin’? ” 

“ It is a circus,” replied Red. “ Funny how 
you guessed it.” 

“ Oh, I can spot ’em,” said the carpenter. 
“ Where ye aimin’ to show at? ” 

“ Dirksville,” said Red. 

“ Dirksville! ” repeated the man. Then He be¬ 
gan to laugh. He slapped his knee; he doubled 


FLYING CIRCUS 


157 


up like a jack-knife—or a pretzel; he choked and 
sputtered and roared. “ Dirksville! ” he cried. 
“ .Yer a-going to show at Dirksville! Oh, my! 
Oh, my! ” 

“ What’s wrong with the place? ” demanded 
Skip. “ Do they all carry dirks there? ” 

“ Dirksville! ” repeated the carpenter, as if the 
word tickled not only his fancy but his ribs as 
well. Then he began to laugh again. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Red had walked a little apart from the others 
and had begun to talk to Tut. Now his com¬ 
panions joined him. “ Red,” said Pen, “ what 
the dickens is all this funny mystery about Dirks- 
ville? What’s this fellow laughing his head off 
about, and what did that Clubber kid mean last 
night when he warned us not to show there? ” 

“ Oh, nothing much,” replied Red. 

“ Well,” said Pen slowly, “ we’ve made up our 
minds, Red, that we’re not going a step farther 
till you’ve told us.” 

Tut rolled his eyes at the carpenter. “ A little 
axle grease on that elbow; then a little elbow 
grease on the axle! ” 

Red grinned. “ Pen,” he said, “ will you all 
promise to go on and show there if I do tell 
you? ” 

“ We’ll go anywhere you go,” was the dig¬ 
nified reply, “ but we’ve got a right to know.” 

“ Well, I guess you have,” said Red. “ The 
truth is, fellows, that—have you ever heard of 
Darling’s Five Ring Circus?” 

“ Sure. Who hasn’t? ” 

158 


RED GILBERT 


159 


“ Well,” continued Red, “ they’re showing at 
Dirksville now and will be there all next week. 
Now you know.” 

Red’s companions looked at one another 
blankly. The carpenter had at last coughed up 
his last “ Dirksville ” and was pounding away at 
the old axle. For fully two minutes that was 
the only sound to be heard. 

Then, “ Red,” said Skip, “ are you crazy? ” 

It had been some time since Red had had to 
answer that embarrassing question, but he didn’t 
hesitate. “ Oh, no,” replied Red in mock aston¬ 
ishment. “Why?” 

“ Because you want to go to Dirksville and 
compete with one of the biggest shows in 
America.” 

“ But not the greatest,” replied Red. 

His companions looked at him hopelessly. At 
last Pen ventured to ask: “ How are you going 
to do it? ” 

“ I’m not quite sure,” said Red easily. “ But 
I’m convinced of this: a little competition is what 
we need. I’m afraid we’ve grown a bit stale.” 

“ I’d rather be a stale crust than a loaf of fresh 
bread that gets eaten,” said Fred, a bit surprised 
at himself for thinking of such a bright metaphor. 


160 


RED GILBERTS 


“ I’d rather be a fresh loaf that takes first 
prize at the fair,” said RecL 

“ Well,” added Skip, “ I’ll say you’ve got 
plenty of crust to start with.” 

“ If you’ll pardon the seeming lack of mod¬ 
esty,” replied Red, grinning, “ I think it’s pretty 
good crust.” 

Just then the carpenter called for help, and 
there the argument ended. 

For the next three hours everybody worked on 
the axle. Red told the carpenter that he knew 
all about Darling’s circus being at Dirksville 
and added that it didn’t make much difference— 
Darling was out of luck, that was all. 

“ Ye don’t mean yer goin’ to compete against 
’em, do ye?” the man asked incredulously. 

“ My friend,” said Red, “ do you suppose that 
Darling’s circus ever showed at a town where 
every solitary resident, old and young, big and 
little, turned out the first night?” 

“ Not likely,” replied the carpenter. 

“Well,” said Red, “we’ve had that distinc¬ 
tion.” 

The carpenter was floored; he had no reply, 
so he contented himself by planning to tack five 
dollars extra on the bill. He belonged to no 


FLYING CIRCUS 161 

union; nevertheless he stopped work and went 
home for dinner at ten minutes of twelve. 

When he returned he had a friend with him— 
man’s best friend, as a matter of fact, a large 
hound. The two clowns and Pen and Skip 
glanced once at the creature and inwardly 
thanked their stars they didn’t have such a dog 
to live with. Red glanced once at him and de¬ 
cided the outfit would be incomplete without him. 

“ That’s a miserable specimen of a brute you’ve 
got,” he said to the man. “Do you call it a 
dog? ” 

“ I call Jhim a varmut,” replied the carpenter. 
“ Look at him sitting there—a hide like sand¬ 
paper, a head like a hammer, legs like a brace 
an’ bit, ribs like slats on a crate-” 

“ I should think you’d be ashamed to own 
him.” 

“ Huh,” said the carpenter; he evidently hadn’t 
thought of the great moral side of the matter. 

“ What’s his name? ” 

“ Gloom,” replied the man. 

“ He looks it.” Red regarded the creature 
thoughtfully. 

He was one of those unfortunate dogs that 
seem to be ashamed to live. He wasn’t any color 



162 


RED GILBERTS 


at all; he wasn’t any shape at all. A bleached 
and stained burlap bag half filled with bones and 
draped over a bush would have passed easily for 
his twin. His feet were big and clumsy, and his 
legs looked like those of Old Man Rheumatism’s 
dog. His tail was bent as if from being kicked, 
and it seemed twice as thick as it was because of 
the many burrs matted into it. His eyes were 
bloodshot, and the skin round them was wrinkled 
and moth-eaten. His ears hung down almost to 
the dust, and the ends were sliced to ribbons— 
showing that in his day he had mingled in fast 
feline company. Altogether he was the saddest 
dog Red had ever seen. 

But Red saw something else—something that 
none of the others had noticed. He had looked 
full into Gloom’s great brown eyes, and he had 
seen, besides deep abiding sadness, loyalty and 
compassion. Gloom knew suffering as few dogs 
know it; he could appreciate a real friend. Red 
was determined to have him. 

“ Is he vicious? ” he inquired. 

“ All varmuts is vicious,” replied the carpen¬ 
ter, and, not content with letting the boy draw 
the logical conclusion, he stooped and picked up 
5 stone. A deep growl issued from the depths 


/ 


FLYING CIRCUS 


163 


of the bag of bones, and the dog’s teeth flashed 
in the sunlight. 

The carpenter hastily dropped the stone. 
“ Teeth like chisels! ” he said. 

“ Better look out,” said Red. “ Some day he’ll 
chew your leg off. You couldn’t very well kick 
him after that, you know.” 

The man was very thoughtful as he spread 
out his tools. “ Wish I could get rid of him,” 
he said at last. 

“I wish you could too!” said Red compas¬ 
sionately. “ You’d probably earn moi*e money 
without him; folks are usually shy of a man who 
owns a mutt like that.” 

“ I guess that’s so. But who’d take him? ” 

Red seemed to consider. “ Well, now,” he said 
at last, “ I’ll tell you what I’ll do if you like. 
I’ll take him along with me.” 

“ Yer not foolin’? ” 

“ No; I’ll do it as a favor.” 

“ He’s yours! ” said the carpenter. 

And that’s how Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus 
acquired a “ varmut.” 

While his companions stood in frowning si¬ 
lence Red walked over to the dismal hound and, 
without the least show about it, patted his great 


164 


RED GILBERTS 


hammer head and called him a good dog. The 
hound responded by licking his hand, and from 
that moment Red was his master. 

Along toward four o’clock the carpenter fin¬ 
ished with the new axle, and with the air of a 
man who has secured a life job out of jail started 
work on the spring; but Red stopped him. 
“ We’ll call it a day,” he said. 

“ Want me to come to-morrow? ” the carpen¬ 
ter asked hopefully. “ Fix you up in two more 
days—fifteen dollars a day.” 

“No. We’re all set.” 

“ But what if yer spring breaks? ” 

“ By that time,” said Red, “ we’ll probably be 
where there’s more than one carpenter. How 
much does a new axle cost? ” 

“ That one’s twenty-two dollars.” 

“ Then we owe you thirty-seven dollars— 
twenty-two plus fifteen.” 

The man looked crestfallen; plainly he had ex¬ 
pected to get more than that, but Red had him in 
a vise. “ You won’t get far on that spring,” the 
fellow contented himself with saying. 

“ Well, we’ll see,” said Red. “ Pen, open up 
the strong-box, and we’ll pay our debts.” 

When the carpenter had gone Red’s compan- 


FLYING CIRCUS 165 

ions held an indignation meeting. “ It’s an 
outrage 1 ” cried Pen. “His charging that 
much! ” 

“ And Red went and paid him like a little 
lamb,” said Fred. 

“ And look at the mutt the fellow left behind! ” 
said Skip. 

“ Fellows,” said Red earnestly, “ you’ve got 
the wrong idea. As times are, we’ve paid a fair 
price. Besides, we’ve got a prize dog! Did you 
ever see a dog like that before in your life? ” 

“ Never! ” It was unanimous. 

“ Well, what’s a circus for if it isn’t to show 
strange and unusual animals? ” demanded Red. 

“ Maybe you’re right,” said Skip thoughtfully. 

“ Sure I am,” said Red. “ And I’ve got a new 
idea too that I hope will be ripe by morning. 
Let’s feed now and prepare to spend the night 
right here.” 

The boys cooked supper, but even after they 
had crowded their stomachs with baked beans, 
rice and raisins and crackers and cocoa there was 
a noticeable lack of harmony in the camp. Red’s 
companions were uncertain about the morrow; 
moreover, they were uncertain about Red’s dog. 
If the brute should decide to act as bad as he 


166 


RED GILBERTS 


looked, the Flying Circus might come to a sudden 
and disastrous end. 

No one knew what Red knew: that a subtle 
change had come over the dog. At last he had 
found the one master, and henceforth he was on 
his good behavior. But true as the circumstance 
was, Red couldn’t convince his friends of it; they 
slept that night each of them with a club beside 
his bed. 

Morning dawned as mornings have had a way 
of doing for a good many years. Mother of 
Pearl played her pretty shell game with the east¬ 
ern sky; the heavens changed from sedate gray 
to pink and rose and presently to brooding blue. 
And then the sun came up with a bump, rejoicing 
like a strong man to run a race—and incidentally 
promising to make it hot for anyone he caught 
napping. 

But as far as Red and his companions were 
concerned, Old Sol was a slowpoke. They were 
already passing through the village when he ap¬ 
peared. At that hour the place was deserted 
except for one person, the carpenter. He was 
sitting on the wide porch of the general store 
with his back against a post. While the spring 
wagon was yet thirty yards off he fixed his eyes 


FLYING CIRCUS 


167 


on the back spring and began to shake his head 
dubiously from side to side; and as he did so he 
made strange noises with his lips—something like 
those a hen makes that had rather set than dig 
bait. 

The boys nodded to him pleasantly enough, but 
he continued to wag his head and cluck prophet¬ 
ically; it almost seemed as if the spring sagged 
visibly under the spell. Red, who was driving, 
looked back as they reached the top of the next 
hill—and there the fellow still sat, hoping and 
praying for the worst. Skip set the incident 
down as an ill omen, but he didn’t say any¬ 
thing. 

And where was Gloom all the while? Curled 
up between King Richard and the hairless hound! 
He had made friends with everyone except the 
cats and Red’s four companions. 

Shortly before noon Red halted the team just 
outside the town of Dirksville, and there they all 
had lunch. 

“ Now, fellows,” said Red, “ do you see those 
splashes of white ahead in what looks like a park? 
I suspect they’re Darling’s tents.” 

His companions nodded unenthusiastically. 

“ I’m afraid,” continued Red, “ that we’re 


108 RED GILBERTS 

likely to have a trying time at first when we enter 
the town.” 

“ No doubt about it,” said Pen. “ We usually 
do.” 

“ Folks will laugh at us,” Red went on. 
“ They’ll yell and hoot and say all the funny 
things they can think of. Now what we’ve got 
to do is take it all in good fun. Remember, 
Americans like fair play, and we’ll get it if we 
all act like good sports. I’ve taught Tut to say 
‘ Hurrah for Dirksville! ’ And whenever I say, 
‘ Now, boys!’ all of us will give the same yell. 
That’ll get ’em. Another thing, we’ll have a 
parade.” 

“ A parade! ” exclaimed his companions. 
“ When, where?” 

“ We’ll form,” replied Red, “ at the foot of 
the hill and parade right down the main street. 
A big town like Dirksville is sure to have a couple 
of schoolhouses; I hope to use the front yard of 
one of them to show in.” 

“ Red,” said Skip, “ you’ve certainly got 
nerve! ” 

“ What kind of a parade will it be? ” asked 
Paul. 

“ I’d call it the Parade of the Nations,” said 


169 


FLYING CIRCUS 

Red. “ Pen will drive. King Richard will go 
on ahead; then comes Tut on the trailer; then the 
four cats hitched behind in single file; then Fred 
dressed as Creampuff; then little Mex; then Skip 
in his flowing robes; then Paul as Vaseline carry¬ 
ing the royal mice and leading Gloom.” 

“ It’ll never work out,” said Pen positively. 

“ Yes, it will! ” retorted Red. “ Didn’t I lie 
awake for an hour last night, planning the thing? 
Of course it’ll work out! ” 

“ But where do the nations figure in it? ” in¬ 
quired Paul. 

“Ah-ha!” cried Red. “Now you’ve hit the 
nail on the thumb! Just as soon as we’ve cleared 
up this grub I’ll show you something else that I 
planned during that wakeful hour—something 
that’ll open your eyes! ” 


CHAPTER XV 


What Red showed his four companions made 
them open their mouths as well as their eyes. 
And one hour later the whole town of Dirksville 
did the same. 

It was a great day for a parade, just warm 
enough, just cool enough. The road that led into 
the town and, once inside, became Centre Street, 
was lined on either side with old maple trees, and 
down that picturesque green and gold-splashed 
avenue, half an hour later, marched Red Gilbert’s 
Flying Circus. 

First, big, powerful, stately and dignified came 
the St. Bernard. From his collar protruded a 
little silk American flag that someone back in 
Twin Rapids—never mind who—had given to 
Red. The dog seemed to feel his importance, for 
he held to the centre of the road and lifted his 
feet with dignity and grace. He was America 
and knew it. 

Close behind came Red, himself, arrayed in his 
war paint and high hat. His eyes were fixed on 
the group of surprised and wondering townsfolk 
170 


BED GILBERT 


171 


who were gathered at the first house on the out¬ 
skirts. He smiled to himself as he saw the group 
swell and become a small crowd as people ran to 
join it. It was proving to be a great summer 
for Red. 

Then came the wagon and trailer with Pen 
driving. Old Duke and Silverheels were draped 
and adorned with gay bits of cloth and ribbons 
that had been cut from nobody knows where. 
Funny what a little show and excitement will do 
for man or animal; those two nags seemed to be 
walking on air, and their nostrils flared like 
thoroughbreds’. And even the old wagon seemed 
to have caught the holiday spirit. The boys had 
plastered the sides with posters till it looked as 
if all the fun in the world had been condensed 
and crowded under the brown hood. At any rate 
the slogan, “ A Million Laughs per Minute,” 
enhanced that impression. And there behind on 
the trailer, mysterious and at the moment silent 
like the sphinx, sat the Egyptian parrot. A little 
placard attached to his foot and hanging down 
over the side bore the words “ Egypt—keep it 
dark!” 

There was a shout, then a cheer from the crowd 
as King Richard came opposite them. Several 


172 


BED GILBERTS 


men took off their hats as the dog marched past 
with Red’s flag—or rather with—but, never 
mind, it doesn’t matter much who owned the flag 
first; Red owned it now. 

“ That’s America! ” cried a small boy with a 
big voice. “ Ain’t he great? He could lick the 
world! ” 

At the moment the dog happened to be licking 
his mouth. 

“ My land! ” exclaimed one old lady. “ An¬ 
other circus come to town! ” 

“Won’t Darling be sore!” shouted a youth 
home from college. 

“ Say, who are you? ” demanded someone of 
Red. 

Red tipped his hat. “ I’m Red Gilbert,” he re¬ 
plied. “ I’m the one who takes your money.” 

Just then Tut piped up: “ Hurrah for Dirks- 
ville! Hurrah for Dirksville! ” Then forgetting 
himself, he added, “ Hurrah for Red Gilbert! ” 

A great roar went up from the crowd, which 
already had increased to twice its original size. 
Here was an intelligent bird! Egypt talking to 
Dirksville! It was a bit like radio! 

And then came the cats, one, two, three, four, 
all hitched together with green ribbons and held 


FLYING CIRCUS 173 

in check by Creampuff. Erick was at the head 
of the little column, and he didn’t like it a bit; 
he wanted to be at the foot. But at the foot was 
Whitey, and he wanted to be at the head. Fritz 
was second and wanted to be third. Clarence was 
third and wanted to be second. Therefore all 
their eyes shone green and matched their neck¬ 
ties. 

Fred held the guiding ribbons in his left hand; 
in his right dangled a pasteboard on which had 
been printed in green crayon: “ Persia, Angora, 
Malta and the Catalina Islands.” 

“My stars!” exclaimed an old lady. “Just 
a-look at them cats now, would you? Look at 
’em all in step like convicts! ” 

“Scat! Scat! Scat!” cried the small boy 
with the large voice. 

The cats bolted off to the left, but Creampuff 
held tight and after some trouble and amid great 
laughter got them back into formation. 

“Scat! Scat! Scat! Scat! Scat! ” repeated 
the small boy, but this time the cats wouldn’t 
scat. Thereupon someone pulled the boy’s hat 
down over his eyes for being too fresh. 

Next came the hairless hound in his little blan¬ 
ket; he didn’t trot or run—he just seemed to 


174 


RED GILBERTS 


shiver along. Of course he was labeled “ Mex¬ 
ico.” Skip, who held the leash that held the 
hound, looked a bit like a sheik who had fallen 
into a barrel of paint. His gayly colored robes 
fluttered to the four winds; at times he looked 
as if he might fly up into the air and drag 
Mexico with him—perhaps to drop it where 
Alaska is. Wouldn’t that mix the geologists up, 
though! 

Which looked more ridiculous, the hairless 
hound or the fortune teller, is hard to say. The 
crowd couldn’t quite decide. First they poked 
fun at the one, then at the other. Several times 
Skip felt his anger rising, but each time he looked 
into the future and saw what would happen in 
case of a row, and he held his tongue. Mex was 
better off; he couldn’t understand. 

“ Look at Shapeless Mag an’ her dog! ” 
shouted a young fellow with a black eye. “ I’d 
be ashamed of meself! ” 

Skip looked once at the eye and decided he 
didn’t want one like it; so he managed to grin, 
though it looked a bit strained. 

And then came Paul, and at sight of him the 
crowd fairly danced up and down. 

Paul had his hands full. In his right hand he 


FLYING CIRCUS 175 

held Bonnie Prince Charley ornamented with a 
placard that read: “ China—a good place for a 
mouse to come from.” In his left hand he held 
Little Lord Fauntleroy; his placard read: 
“ Fisher’s Landing—another good place to come 
from.” 

That made a tremendous hit, for Red had 
learned that Fisher’s Landing was Dirksville’s 
hated rival in baseball. The crowd clapped their 
hands and cheered till they were hoarse; and then 
as they got a good view of Gloom the cheers 
changed to a mighty roar. Paul was leading the 
“ varmut ” by a long rope cable. The dog’s head 
drooped lower than ever, and his great ears left 
two long tracks behind in the dust; apparently 
he was having his saddest moment. And on his 
back was a sign that read, “ Russia—think it 
over.” 

At that moment there was a little commotion 
in the crowd. Out of the tail of his eye Paul saw 
a small red-faced man being supj}orted by two 
others; someone was fanning his face with a straw 
hat. 

“ Who is it? What’s happened to him? ” Paul 
heard somebody ask. 

There was a hush; then someone replied: “ Go 


176 


BED GILBERTS 


get some water. It’s one of Darling’s clowns. I 
think he’s laughed himself into convulsions.” 

Paul chuckled to himself. It looked like a 
good beginning. 

Down Centre Street went the Flying Circus 
on parade past the city hall, past the post-office, 
and into the park, where Darling’s tents were 
pitched; and all the while people stopped to stare 
and then to laugh. Within the little park Red 
halted his column and, turning, shouted, “ Now, 
boys!” 

“ Hurrah for Dirksville! ” came the cheer. 

“ Hurrah for Red Gilbert! ” echoed the parrot. 

“ Great stuff! ” cried the people. “ Lots of 
pep to those boys! ” 

“ Where’s the schoolhouse? ” Red asked one 
of the bystanders. 

“ Just outside the park. See it over there? ” 

“ Has it a yard where we can pitch our tents? ” 

“ Ret your life! ” replied the bystander. 

Red thanked him and said he never bet. Then 
he marched his column toward the place. 

Half an hour later they had the tents pitched, 
and Red had planted a sign announcing that the 
show would begin at three o’clock, 

“Red, you’re a wonder!” said Pen admir- 


FLYING CIRCUS 177 

ingly. “We never were more popular in our 
lives! ” 

“ Popularity,” replied Red, taking the little 
American flag from the St. Bernard’s collar and 
folding it tenderly, “ is a fickle thing. Now you 
have it, and now you haven’t.” He put the flag 
into his coat pocket—the one that happened to 
be over his heart. 

“ Why, what’s the matter ? 99 asked Pen. Then 
he glanced at Red’s pocket and grinned. “ Red, 
has Grace-” 

“ Now see here, Pen,” said Red, “ you’re too 
darn inquisitive. You’d better be studying for 
that bookkeeping exam.” 

Pen hurried away and concluded that Grace 
Overton had shifted her affections in the direc¬ 
tion of Hector Skinner, whose father was head of 
the tripe company back at Twin Rapids. No 
doubt she’d written to Red and told him so. 

But Pen was wrong. Grace hadn’t written 
since the boys had left town—which was almost 
as bad. 



CHAPTER XVI 


Environment is a powerful influence; just 
ask the fat missionary who landed among the 
cannibals. By half-past two, when the people of 
Dirksville began to cross the park toward the 
circus, each with the idea that a million laughs 
per minute was a pretty good bargain for the 
price of admission, Red looked as if he had never 
had a gloomy thought. Even the doubtful 
hound cheered up enough to lift his ears off the 
ground. 

“ Step right this way, ladies and gentlemen! 
Absolutely and without qualifications or reserva¬ 
tions the greatest show on earth! ” Red was at 
it again. “ You’ve seen Darling’s—now come and 
see a circus! Step right inside! But, ladies and 
gentlemen, I warn you to be careful; one of Dar¬ 
ling’s clowns laughed himself into convulsions 
over our parade. Our show is still funnier! ” 

That sounded a bit like cut-throat competition, 
but Red was nothing if not thorough. 

From the very start things worked as smoothly 
as slippery elm. Red’s opening speech would 
178 


RED GILBERT 


179 


have moved the stony-hearted Sphinx to tears 
of laughter. Skip sang the funniest songs, and 
children choked on peanuts as they listened. 
Creampuff and Vaseline set the small boys to 
howling, especially when Creampuff ripped his 
pants on the corner of one of the benches. The 
parrot surprised even Red with some new ex¬ 
pressions that he had picked up; and when Red 
led Gloom forth and explained some of the rea¬ 
sons for the dog’s intense sadness the audience 
were so sympathetic that they laughed till they 
cried. 

“ Gosh, this is great! ” said Paul to Fred be¬ 
tween acts. “ This is the way I like to see things 
go!” 

“ Same here,” said Fred. “ No fear of a hitch 
now! ” 

And then when the show was all over Skip 
began to tell his fortunes, and the money began 
to roll in—and the boys began to think of rolling 
in money. And when the last fortune had been 
told Pen rolled up his sleeves, opened his ledger 
and proceeded to mix things up. 

It proved to be a perfect day with a perfect 
ending; Pen balanced his accounts after the sev¬ 
enth attempt—the lucky seventh! 


180 BED GILBERTS 

“ Well, bookkeeper,” said Red, “ how much 
ready cash on hand? ” 

“ One hundred and eighteen dollars and fifty- 
five cents! ” 

“ Fellows,” said Red, lighting the lantern and 
placing the box of matches on the table, “ we’ve 
struck our stride! Dirksville is a real town. 
Darling is making money here, and so are we. 
We’ll give another show to-morrow and maybe 
another the next day. Oh, boy! I can just see 
that bath-house back home! ” 

At the words “ back home ” he became 
abruptly thoughtful. Why hadn’t Grace Over- 
ton written to him? “ Poor old Gloom,” he said, 
patting the “ varmut’s ” excuse for a head. 

“ Misery loves company,” muttered Pen. 

“ Ho hum,” said Paul. “ I’m dead tired.” 

“ So am I,” added Pen and Fred. 

“ I gTiess we’re all tired,” said Red. “ Let’s 
turn in.” 

“ Shall I put the royal mice out in the wagon? ” 
asked Skip. 

“ No, don’t bother,” said Red. “ I’m tired 
enough to sleep with anything. I ? ll put the light 
out—that’ll be enough.” 

A quarter of an hour later Morpheus, the dope 


FLYING CIRCUS 


181 


fiend of the gods, had prodded everyone several 
times with his hypodermic needle; the Flying Cir¬ 
cus slept. The lights of the town blinked and 
went out without saying when they would be 
back. The watch dogs began their dog watch 
with one eye open. It was a quiet, ghostly sort 
of night—the kind that makes you feel as if any¬ 
thing might happen. There was no moon; there 
were only a few stars, and they were winking as 
if in a failing effort to keep awake. 

A cricket chirped somewhere in the school 
yard, and as if the sound were a prearranged 
signal Erick, Fritz, Clarence and Whitey 
jumped down from the back of the spring wagon 
and crouched for a few minutes with their heads 
together. It was the kind of night they loved—- 
a time for mischief and dark deeds. Just for 
spite Erick made a sudden vicious pass at 
Whitey, who crouched and spat and waved his 
tail. Then Erick’s wicked meat-hook shot out at 
Fritz and straightway again at Clarence. After 
that all four cats sat and snarled softly and 
maneuvered for position. 

Things had gone so astonishingly well with the 
circus that the cats had been feeling pretty ugly 
when they sprang from the wagon; by the time 


182 


RED GILBERT S 


they were through snarling and spitting they 
were in a terrible mood. Finally Erick swag¬ 
gered off toward the big tent, and the others fol¬ 
lowed him. The flap was back, and they entered. 
There were the royal mice in their cage on the 
table, dreaming of cheese. 

The four pairs of yellow eyes gleamed ma¬ 
liciously in the darkness. One cat after another 
sprang to the top of the table, and they ranged 
themselves round the cage. Both mice were 
asleep, but soon they began to stir uneasily. 

Then the four cats began to snarl ever so 
softly. The mice came awake with a start. At 
that instant Erick rushed the cage and tried to 
get his paws inside; like a flash the three others 
rushed the cage also. Fortunately, the wires 
were close together, but they were not close 
enough to suit the mice. Round and round and 
round they raced, squeaking like a pair of-new 
shoes. The cats pushed the cage now this way, 
now that way and made cannibalistic noises 
in their throats. It was good fun for a dark 
night. 

Red, who had been dreaming of blue eyes and 
golden curls, turned over and muttered in his 
sleep. Instantly the cats fled. The mice ceased 



FLYING CIRCUS 


183 


to squeak and after a while ceased to run, but 
there was no more sleep for them that night. It’s 
no joke for a mouse to be wakened by four cats 
all at once! The Bonnie Prince was especially 
upset. He scratched his ear nervously; he 
chewed one of the wires, nervously; then he 
reached out through the bars, upset the box of 
matches that was lying near by and, pulling a 
match inside, began to chew it—nervously. And 
that was the beginning of a great calamity. 

Red was still dreaming of blue eyes and golden 
curls. They were right across the table from 
him. It was a large table, and round it were 
seated the English ambassador and his wife, the 
French ambassador and his wife, the Chinese 
minister and a dozen other diplomats. Red, in 
full evening dress, had been speaking to the al¬ 
mond-eyed minister on the matter of controlling 
the traffic in firecrackers, when, on glancing 
across the table, he realized to his vast astonish¬ 
ment that he was looking, not at blue eyes and 
golden curls, but at blue curls and golden eyes! 
Then his astonishment changed to horror. The 
blue curls began to wave and ascend like smoke, 

and the golden eyes- Suddenly the English 

ambassador seized him by the shoulder and began 



184 RED GILBERTS 

to shake him. Red sprang to his feet, fighting 
mad! 

And there he was sitting up in bed. Skip had 
him by the shoulder and was shaking him as if he 
were a mop. “ Red! Red! Wake up! Fire! ” 

Red blinked and opened his eyes wide. 

“ Fire! ” cried Skip. “ The tent’s on fire! ” 

“ All right,” said Red quietly and sprang to 
his feet. 

Suddenly a bright patch of flame shot out of 
the darkness just above the table, and Red spied 
the royal mice turning pinwheels inside their cage. 
“ Save the animals! ” he shouted and, picking up 
the cage, ran outside, where in the darkness he 
pitched headlong over one of the ropes. 

When he returned he found Skip doing his 
best to “ save the animals.” He was shaking Pen 
by the shoulders and shouting: “Wake up! 
Wake up! Fire!” 

But Pen only rolled over; it would take more 
than a fire to waken him. Skip kicked the soles 
of his feet; Pen began to snore. Thereupon Skip 
seized his ankles and dragged him out like a sack 
of flour. 

Meanwhile Red had gone to work at the fire 
with both hands, but it proved to be too much 


FLYING CIRCUS 185 

for him. Some papers on the table had caught, 
and the blaze had spread to the side of the tent. 
Now the flames were rapidly eating their way in 
all directions, fanned by the wind, which hadn’t 
missed a fire in Dirksville for years and didn’t 
intend to miss this one. 

“ Skip, help me! ” cried Red and rushed to find 
something with which to beat out the flames. 
“ Hurry up! The small tent’s afire, too! ” 

Skip had dragged Fred out by the feet and 
was now trying to rouse Paul, but Paul was like 
Socrates after he drank the hemlock. 

“ Drag him out,” said Red. “ Then grab 
something and give me a hand.” 

As Paul went out by the overland route Red 
groped on the ground till he found something 
soft; it proved to be Paul’s trousers, but Red had 
no time to consider. In a moment he was beating 
away at the side of the tent like a demon with a 
carpet-beater. 

Then in rushed Skip and, seizing Fred’s trou¬ 
sers, took his place beside his leader. Swish, 
sounded the trousers, first Fred’s, then Paul’s. 
But all the trousers in the world wouldn’t have 
made much headway against the ever-mounting 
flames. In five minutes one whole side of the 


186 


RED GILBERTS 


tent had disappeared, and the fire was creeping 
rapidly along the sloping top, throwing a lurid 
glare over the old school yard. Red groaned. 
The small tent, which a spark from the large one 
had kindled, was already in ashes. 

“ Skip,” he gasped, “ is there any water near? ” 

“ No,” said Skip, choking. “ Only a bucketful 
for the horses—I’ll get it.” 

He tore off toward the wagon, lifted the bucket 
of water from the weakened spring, on which it 
was hanging, and rushed back with it. But luck 
was on the side of the fire; Skip tripped over 
the sleeping Paul, pitched headlong to the 
ground, and the bucket landed upside down on 
Pen’s stoma'ch. 

“ Ung—gar! ” cried Pen, shooting upward like 
the blade of a jack-knife. “ What—what—• 
brrr! ” 

“Get up, you groundhog!” cried Skip. 
“We’re on fire!” 

Pen got hastily to his feet and began to feel 
of his pajamas. Then realizing that Skip hadn’t 
meant to be too literal, he spied the blazing 
tent. “My books!” he screamed and started 
forward. 

But Skip seized his arm and turned him round. 


FLYING CIRCUS 187 

“ Go send in the alarm! Quick! Your books are 
ashes by now.” 

“ Where’s the fire box? ” 

“ Don’t know. Go find one—quick! ” 

Pen’s pajamas—with Pen inside of course— 
set sail toward the business section of the town. 
Then Skip rejoined his leader. 

“ It’s no use,” said Red, looking sadly at the 
burning tent. “ We’d better save what we 
can.” 

The first things Red saved were his shoes and 
trousers. Skip, who was guided by the same in¬ 
stinct, saved his. Putting them on in two shakes, 
they then carried out the table and what remained 
of the clothes and the bedding. Fortunately, the 
wagon was at a safe distance. Red made sure 
that all the animals were safe and sound; then he 
turned to his companion. 

“ Well, Skip, it’s just another-” 

“ Another one of those unfortunate accidents 
that go to make up the life of a circus man,” said 
Skip grimly. 

“ Exactly,” said Red. “ Look at it burn! ” 

“ And after the wonderful day we had! ” 

“ After the wonderful day,” said Red. “ Say, 
where’s Paul and Fred? ” 



188 


RED GILBERT S 


“ Over there on the grass beyond the wagon, 
still asleep.” 

“We’d better waken them—unless they’re 
dead!” 

Red and Skip crossed to where the two clowns 
were breathing heavily, and finally by dint of 
lifting them and dropping them several times 
they knocked most of the sleep out of them. 

“ Hey! ” cried Paul at last. 

“ Get up! ” shouted Skip. 

“Ho hum! Is that—ho hum—you, Skip?” 
Paul sat up and looked in a bewildered way at 
Fred, who was sitting up a few feet from him. 
“ Say, where am I? Where’s my pants? ” 

“ They’re burnt up,” replied Red. “ There’s 
been a fire! ” 

“ A fire? ” Paul wasn’t very wide awake even 
now. 

“ Yes, your pants and Fred’s pants are all 
burnt up; they died together. The tent caught 
fire.” 

Paul and Fred got slowly to their feet and 
gazed wide-eyed at the burning canvas, what 
there was left of it. 

“What’ll we do without pants?” said Fred 
blankly. 


FLYING CIRCUS 


189 


“ You’ll do without ’em,” replied Skip shortly. 
“ Anybody who could sleep the way you fellows 
did oughtn’t to be trusted with pants! ” 

At that moment a fierce clanging and roaring 
sounded beyond the park. 

“ Here come the fire-engines,” said Red, “ and 
just when I was going to go to bed too! ” 


CHAPTER XVII 


The clanging and roaring increased. The 
fierce whirr of motors sounded like a party of 
deep-chested demons on their way home after a 
wild night. Windows flew open, and heads 
popped out; then lights began to appear in many 
of the houses. Pretty soon footsteps began to 
sound on the hard pavements. 

“ Gee, this is a hick town,” said Red, yawning. 

“ Why? ” asked Skip. 

“ Just see how excited folks are getting merely 
because the fire-engines are called out,” replied 
Red. “ In five minutes there’ll be a crowd here.” 

At that moment the first engine rounded the 
corner of the park, and on the front seat beside 
the driver sat Pen in his pajamas. Behind came 
a hose apparatus, followed closely by a long hook- 
and-ladder wagon. It was thrilling to see them 
come tearing down the street; all the bells were 
clanging, all the klaxons were screeching. And 
the fire, burning slowly up round the pole, was 
almost out. 

“ Hi! Yi! ” yelled Skip, dashing into the mid¬ 
dle of the street. “ Here it is! Here it is! ” 

190 


RED GILBERT 


191 


The engine slowed down and stopped. The 
men sprang to the ground, and Pen and his pa¬ 
jamas sprang with them. 

“ Is that it? ” shouted the driver, pointing. 

“ That’s it, sir,” replied Skip. “ But it’s most 
out now.” 

“ Come on, boys! ” shouted the driver, and the 
men prepared to get out the hose. 

The “ hooksie ” and the other pieces of ap¬ 
paratus drew up on the opposite side of the street. 
By that time Chief Blazer had arrived in his red 
roadster. Then the fur flew! Two sets of hose 
were stretched from a near-by fire-plug. Out 
came the extension ladders and began to extend 
themselves. The chief, who seemed to have got 
the job mainly because of his voice, bellowed or¬ 
ders at the top of it. His men, clad in rubber 
coats, rubber boots and rubber hats, ran hither 
and thither, each trying to yell louder than the 
chief. 

“ Gosh,” said Red, “ wonder how they’d act at 
a real fire? ” 

Then someone turned on the water. The great 
hoses writhed like snakes with the stomachache. 
Then ss-s-s-coo-f-f! ssss-c-o-o-f-f! and two 
streams of water shot forth. The first struck the 


192 


RED GILBERTS 


burning canvas—and the fire was out for the 
night. The second struck the tent pole near the 
top and snapped it as a strong man would snap 
a piece of macaroni. 

“ I guess that’s a record for putting out a fire,” 
Red remarked to the chief. 

“ Pretty close to it,” replied Blazer modestly. 
“ Soak the schoolhouse, boys! ” he roared at his 
men. 

Then the schoolhouse got it where it would do 
the least good, mainly on the slate roof. 

“ Now soak the trees! ” bellowed the chief. 

Red thought he had never before in his life 
seen such a cautious and altogether thorough fire 
department. They soaked everything within a 
radius of a hundred yards. Then they turned 
off the water, and the chief began to inspect. He 
inspected the remains of the tent; he inspected 
the trailer and the spring wagon; and then, or¬ 
dering a ladder placed against the school, he 
climbed up and inspected the roof. 

By that time a considerable crowd had gath¬ 
ered, and day was on its way to school from 
the east. And with the coming of day three 
of the boys began slowly to become self-con¬ 
scious. 


TLYING CIRCUS 193 

“Say, Red, did you save my pants?” asked 
Pen pathetically. 

“ I’m sorry, but I didn’t. I’m afraid they 
burned to death.” 

Pen groaned at the sad news; he had known 
the pants so well. 

Paul and Fred, huddled in the midst of a con¬ 
venient bush, looked more like clowns than ever; 
each was thinking of the dear friend he had lost. 

“ Say, you Chinese-laundrymen had better get 
into the wagon,” Red advised them. “ First 
thing you know the newspaper men’ll be here, 
and then you’ll get into the papers—without your 
pants!” 

The three coolies rushed for the wagon. 
“ Blasted cats! ” cried Pen as he climbed aboard. 

“ What are you blasting the innocent cats 
for? ” asked Red. 

“ Because,” replied Pen, “ I have a hunch the 
four of them were somehow responsible for this 
fire. Probably they chewed matches! ” 

“ What you need is sleep,” said Red. “ Cats 
don’t chew matches. Only rats and mice do.” 

“ Well, then Erick and his gang made the 
royal mice do the chewing,” retorted Pen. 

Red laughed. “ No, Pen, you’re wrong 


194 


RED GILBERTS 


this time; our cats are innocent.” All of which 
shows that even a fellow like Red can make a mis¬ 
take. 

The bell on the town clock was striking five 
when the firemen decided that they could safely 
leave the place. Chief Blazer had inquired into 
the cause of the blaze and was satisfied, though 
nobody else was, that it had originated from care¬ 
less cooking. 

Red didn’t argue with him, though he did talk 
with a good many of the townsfolk; they knew 
more than the chief, of course. 

“ I’ll tell you how the fire started,” said one 
young fellow as the firemen drove off. “ Some 
of Darling’s men went an’ done it! ” 

“ Darling’s men? Why should they do it? ” 

“ ’Cause you’re taking money out of their 
pockets, that’s why.” 

“ You’re right, Duke,” said another, who 
doubtless was a king or a prince, himself. 
“ Duke, you’re absentlutely right! The boys 
gave a bang-up p’rade yesterday and then a 
bang-up show—the best show I ever see. I heard 
some o’ Darling’s men talking among themselves 
last night; I don’t know what they said, but I 
give a guess.” 


FLYING CIRCUS 195 

“Well,” said another, “it was a mean trick 
to play on the kids. I say we fix Darling’s men 
to-night. I’ll get Hennessy, an’ Hennessy’ll get 
Ferioli an’ Dutch McCarthy-” 

Red turned away; Pen was calling from the 
spring wagon: “Hey, when you going to get 
some clothes for us? ” 

“ Keep your shirt on,” said Red rather irrel¬ 
evantly since Pen hadn’t any shirt. “ I can’t 
buy anything till the stores open, can I? ” 

“ Well, no—say, Red, did the books really 
burn? ” 

“ Sure; they mingled their smoke with the 
smoke from your pants.” 

Pen groaned. “ But you saved the money? ” 

“ Every cent. And it’ll come in handy too. 
We’ll have to get new tents, some new blankets 
and new outfits for the three sleeping beauties 
including yourself.” 

Pen groaned again. 

“ Now,” said Red, “ you and Paul and Fred 
stay right here and don’t annoy the other ani¬ 
mals ; Skip and I will see what we can do. You 
won’t be lonely, ’cause there’ll probably be a big 
crowd here to see the ruins pretty soon.” 

Thereupon Pen and Paul and Fred groaned 



196 RED GILBERTS 

all at once; they were not exactly dressed for 
company. 

“ Try and get a little sleep, boys,” Ship sug¬ 
gested with a grin. “You know you didn’t sleep 
sound last night.” 

“ Aw, have a heart, Skip,” said Paul. 

The first visitors soon began to arrive, men, 
women and children, and of course they had to 
crowd round the wagon. For the benefit of his 
three comrades in pajamas Red tacked up a sign 
that read: “ Please don’t annoy or feed the ani¬ 
mals.” Then he and Skip set out to buy clothes 
and to arrange for having new tents made. 

At a dry-goods store they bought extra under¬ 
wear, extra shirts and extra blankets. At a cloth¬ 
ing store they bought three pairs of brown cordu¬ 
roy pants; fortunately, the three savages were of 
a nearly uniform size. 

Finally after Red and Skip had arranged for 
the tents, they started back toward the wagon, 
which was almost hidden behind the throng of 
curious people—so curious indeed that Pen had 
had to hold the back curtains together in order 
to enjoy that privacy which he in common with 
Paul and Fred were bent on having. His head 
was thrust through a small aperture, and if his 


FLYING CIRCUS 197 

face had been black, no doubt the small boys 
would have started to throw baseballs at him. 

“Hello, you African dodger!” shouted Red. 
“ We’ve got your pants! ” 

Pen’s head vanished inside. 

“So that’s what ails ’em!” exclaimed some¬ 
one. “ Their pants got burnt up last night! ” 
The crowd began to laugh, good-naturedly of 
course, and small-town wit flew thick and fast. 
Red and Skip thrust their bundles under the 
hood. Instantly there was a commotion within 
the wagon as when a lion tamer throws a piece of 
raw meat to his pets. The crowd grinned, and 
the small boy with the large voice yelled: “ Put 
’em on quick! ” 

“ Listen to ’em,” whispered Skip. “ They’re 
fighting for the pants! ” 

“ Well, they’re out o’ luck for sure if they tear 
’em,” said Red. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Two minutes later Pen thrust aside the canvas 
and sprang to the ground, followed by Fred and 
Paul. They looked pretty angry, but they looked 
relieved too. 

Suddenly the crowd began to laugh. Here and 
there men began to point at the new pants. 
Pen's face turned bright red; he looked down; he 
looked at his right leg; he looked at his left leg. 
Then by a remarkable bit of contortion he looked 
at the back of his legs. Near by, Paul and Fred 
were going through the same motions. 

Still the crowd pointed; still they laughed and 
slapped their knees. Oh, oh! This was rich! 

“Hey, you fellers sure fergot something!” 
cried a workman. “ Turn a handspring and 
maybe you can see it! ” 

Pen and Paul and Fred did everything except 
that. Having failed to discover what they had 
forgotten, they seemed to be on the point of 
climbing back into the wagon, when Red stepped 
forward and, taking Fred by the shoulders, 
turned him round. 


198 


RED GILBERT 


199 


“ Now look,” he said to the two others. 

Pen and Paul looked, and there just below 
Fred's belt was a tag that read: “ Reduced to 
two dollars.” 

“ You fellows were in such a rush you forgot 
to take the tags off,” said Red. “ Come here and 
I'll dress you right. That’s what my nurse used 
to say to me when I was a kid.” 

“ Gosh! ” exclaimed Pen. 

“ Now,” continued Red when he had removed 
the tags from the bargains, “ let’s all get busy 
and straighten up the grounds.” He raised 
his voice: “ The crowd can help us if they 
like.” 

Thereupon the spectators began to remember 
important engagements, and in a few minutes the 
boys had the place almost to themselves. 

“ Now for breakfast,” suggested Skip. “ I 
guess we’re all hungry. It was a sort of a wild 
night, eh, Pen? ” 

Pen and Paul and Fred managed to grin, and 
that was the first time since their pants went up 
in smoke. 

“ We’ll have our new tents day after to-mor¬ 
row,” said Red. “ I think we’d all best keep 
quiet to-day and rest up.” 


200 BED GILBERTS 

“ I’m willing to remain quiet for the rest of 
my life! ” said Pen. 

Now that the excitement was over, Red’s face 
took on a far-away look again. He sat down in 
the grass and, leaning against one of the wheels, 
began to stroke Gloom’s head absent-mindedly. 
Why hadn’t Grace Overton written regularly 
every other day? 

The boys slept that afternoon; then they fed 
the animals, ate supper and went to bed wherever 
they could spread their blankets. And then 
began excitement of an altogether different 
sort. 

Along about eleven o’clock Paul sat up sud¬ 
denly and bumped heads with Fred. Red roused 
to his elbow, and Pen and Skip tried to see which 
was harder, their skulls or the floor of the wagon, 
under which they were sleeping. 

“ What was that noise? ” cried Pen. 

There was a terrible racket going on over in 
the vicinity of Darling’s circus. Crash! Crash! 
“Ki-yi-i-i! Hey, Rube! Hey, Rube! Hey, 
Rube! ” 

The boys got up hastily, and Pen and Paul and 
Fred searched for their pants; the fire had taught 
them something. 


FLYING CIRCUS 201 

“ Town this way! Look out! Hit ’im! Hit 
’im! ” “ Hey, Rube! Hey, Rube! ” 

“ Jinks! ” said Skip. “ It’s a free-for-all fight! 
Who’s Rube, I wonder? ” 

“ Fellows,” said Red, “ it’s a fight between the 
town roughs and the circus men. ‘ Hey, Rube ’ 
is the old circus rallying cry. Don’t you remem¬ 
ber the guy who was talking to us yesterday and 
said Darling’s men had set our tents on fire? I 
mean the fellow who said he’d get Hennessy, and 
Hennessy would get Ferioli and Dutch McCar¬ 
thy. Remember he said they’d fix Darling’s 
men? Well, the fixing is going on now. My 
land, listen to ’em! ” 

The cries had redoubled and were punctuated 
by the sound of blows and the swish of sticks and 
stones among the trees. The boys crept forward 
to the edge of the park and watched and listened 
breathlessly. They could see white-clothed fig¬ 
ures rushing and tearing about among the tree 
trunks; some of them were armed with stakes, 
the favorite weapon of the circus man; some were 
armed with stones, the trusty missile of the gang¬ 
ster. 

Bang! Crash! “Hit ’im!” “Ouch!” 
“Hey, Rube! Hey, Rube!” “ Grab’im, Hen- 


202 


RED GILBERTS 


nessy!” “ Look out! Look out!” “Hey, 
Ferioli!” “Hey, Mac!” 

Backward and forward swayed the main line 
of battle, now close to Darling’s tents, now at 
some far corner of the park. Never had there 
been such a fight in Dirksville! Awed and fasci¬ 
nated, the boys watched the dashing, dodging fig¬ 
ures and listened to the fierce cries and the shrieks 
of the wounded. 

“ Fellows,” said Red solemnly, “ I guess this 
country needn’t ever fear a foreign invasion.” 

“ That’s just what I was thinking,” said Skip. 

The two factions were at close quarters and 
evidently were evenly matched. Grunts and 
hoarse cries trembled across the park as if from 
a multitude of crazy, flaming devils. Blow fol¬ 
lowed closely upon blow so fast the effect was 
like that of a small barrage. And in the midst 
of it all came the shrill blast of a police whistle, 
then another and another. 

“ Gee,” said Paul, “ I’m glad I’m not a cop! ” 

“ That’s just what I was thinking,” said 
Skip. 

As Red was silent Paul hastened to say: “ Red, 
you’re not thinking of taking part in that fight, 
are you? ” 


FLYING CIRCUS 203 

“ Oh, no,” Red replied promptly. “ There are 
some things I know enough to keep out of.” 

Paul breathed a little easier. 

Now the Dirksville police had got into the 
mix-up, but the fighting continued as fiercely as 
before. They couldn’t very well use their 
guns because they couldn’t tell one man from 
another. 

Ten minutes later the fire department ap¬ 
peared on the scene, and the noise of hissing 
streams from the hoses added to the din. 

“ That ought to cool ’em off,” said Fred. 

Nevertheless, the battle continued till long into 
the night and was still in progress when the boys 
returned to the wagon and crept into their blan¬ 
kets, deeply thankful that Hennessy, Ferioli and 
Dutch McCarthy hadn’t decided to molest their 
circus. 

Well, to-morrow was another day. The sum¬ 
mer was drawing to a close, and the boys faced 
heavy expenses. At the moment it certainly 
looked as if the people back at Twin Rapids, if 
they wanted to bathe in the river, must put on 
their bathing suits either at home or in the deep, 
deep woods. The amount of money Red and his 
companions had earned thus far, plus an equal 


204 


BED GILBERT 


amount from the pocket of old Judge Mudge 
even, wouldn’t build a bath-house big enough for 
a snake to change its skin in! 


CHAPTER XIX 


The following morning the boys and girls of 
Dirksville woke up with their noses out of joint. 
Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus had no tents and so 
could give no performance. Darling’s circus 
had fought so hard the night before that all the 
best performers were suffering with black eyes, 
sore lips and broken heads; they could not put on 
a show either. 

That afternoon Red had another of his great 
ideas. Darling’s men were in bad shape and 
probably would remain so for the next few days. 
Why not see Darling and arrange to give a show 
in his big tent that night? 

“ Darling will want us to pay him,” Pen ob¬ 
jected. 

“ All right,” said Red. “ We’ll go fifty-fifty 
on the gate receipts. What do you say? ” 

“ I say we do it,” replied Skip. 

“ Good for you,” said Red. “ I hate this idle 
life. I’ll rush over and arrange with Darling 
right now.” 

Darling, like Barkis, was willing; in fact He 
was more than willing, for he didn’t like the ugly 
205 


206 


BED GILBERTS 


rumor that his men had set fire to the boys’ tents. 
Just the same he insisted on having half the gate 
receipts, though Red tried hard to make him be 
more generous. 

After the novel performance had been well ad¬ 
vertised the Flying Circus drove into the park, 
prepared to fly by night. And when night came 
they hopped off before a record crowd. The big 
tent was ablaze with lights, and outside some of 
Darling’s disabled were burning red fire, as if to 
protect themselves against another surprise at¬ 
tack. Mr. Darling, a portly man with puffy 
cheeks, one of which as a result of the party the 
night before was rather puffier than the other, 
introduced Red as Mr. Gilbert, the Sawdust 
King, who one day would be an emperor. 

Red eyed the crowd for a few moments and 
then turned on the hot air. “ Ladies and gentle¬ 
men,” he began, “ I have no desire to be an em¬ 
peror. My one wish is to please you this even¬ 
ing, to make you laugh, to make you appreciate 
the intelligence that lies dormant in our common 
animals-” 

“ Doormouse? ” whispered a deaf old lady to 
her neighbor. “ Did he say he had a doormouse 
among his animals? ” 



FLYING CIRCUS 


207 


But no one paid any attention to her; everyone 
was listening to Red. 

“ Now the first number on our programme is, 
like all our other numbers, a star act.” Red 
waved his hand to Paul and Fred, who were hold¬ 
ing back the four cats. “ Ladies and gentlemen, 
our cats. Erick, Fritz, Clarence and Whitey, 
front and centre! Make it snappy! ” 

The two clowns came in with the cats and also 
with half a dozen colored hoops for them to jump 
through. 

But there was no jumping that night; Erick 
was in an especially ugly mood. For absolutely 
no cause at all—unless it was because he had been 
told to “ make it snappy ”—he flew at Whitey, 
snarling, biting and scratching with all four feet. 
Whitey fought back like a young panther cub. 
Then immediately Fritz and Clarence put their 
two cents into it, and the tent, big as it was, 
wasn’t big enough for the four of them. How 
the fur flew! And how the people cheered and 
shouted! This was a pretty good act. 

But it didn’t last long; after considerable work 
Fred got Fritz and Clarence by the back of their 
necks and the slack of their kitten breeches and 
held them out at arm’s length. Paul got Erick 


208 


BED GILBERTS 


and Whitey in the same manner. Then at a 
word from Red the clowns marched them out of 
the tent, presumably to jail. 

Red raised his hand, and when the noise had 
subsided he said: “ Ladies and gentlemen, that 
was just an imitation of the little affair that 
occurred on these grounds last night.” 

The crowd clapped their hands, and Mr. Dar¬ 
ling said to his sword-swallower: “ That’s a 
quick-witted young fellow, what? ” 

The sword-swallower nodded; he couldn’t re¬ 
ply because of a bandage that kept his neck from 
leaking. 

The cat fight was the only unpleasant occur¬ 
rence of the whole evening. All the other acts 
went well enough to suit even Red, and the crowd 
were satisfied. Of course the performance wasn’t 
so long or so good as Darling’s would have been, 
but crowds are peculiar; this one had taken a 
liking to Red and his companions from the mo¬ 
ment Tut Ankh Amen, Jr., had shouted, “ Hur¬ 
rah for Dirksville! ” Consequently they were 
ready to meet the boys’ humor half-way and bring 
it home in case it limped. 

“ Well, men,” said Red as the troop reached 
their old camp grounds beyond the park some 


FLYING CIRCUS 209 

time later, “ I guess we made a hit, didn’t 
we?” 

“ I’ll say we did,” replied Skip. 

“ Yes, but did you notice how the cats tried to 
crab the show right at the beginning? ” asked 
Pen. “ I tell you, fellows, we’re doing wrong by 
keeping them! ” 

Red only laughed. “ Do you know what Mr. 
Darling said to me after the show? ” 

“ What? ” demanded his companions. 

“ He said,” replied Red casually, “ that he’d 
give me a steady job as barker with his outfit for 
the rest of the summer at ten dollars a week, if 
I’d take it.” 

“ And what did you tell him, Red? ” 

Red grinned. “ I couldn’t refuse, could I? ” 

“What!” cried his companions, suddenly 
aghast. 

“ You’re going to go with Darling? ” said Skip 
in a weak voice. 

“ You’re going to desert us, Red! ” exclaimed 
Paul. 

“ Going to leave your old friends for the sake 
of money! ” cried Pen. 

“ Oh, don’t take it so hard,” said Red. 
“ You’ll make me feel bad.” 


210 


BED GILBERTS 


“ Red,” said Fred, “ you’re not fooling? ” 

For a few moments Red regarded his reproach¬ 
ful companions in silence. Then he said, “ Let’s 
unhitch and care for the animals; then we’ll hold 
a little meeting.” 

Dumbly Red’s companions went about the task 
of unhitching Duke and Silverheels; dumbly they 
fed the dogs, the cats, the mice and the parrot. 
Finally when all were chewing away like a little 
regiment of coffee grinders Red summoned his 
partners at one side of the spring wagon. 

“ Gee, what a gloomy bunch of circus men! ” 
he remarked. 

“ I guess we’ve a right to be gloomy,” said 
Pen. 

“ I never thought you’d desert us, Red,” said 
Skip. “ Leave the old outfit stranded and every¬ 
thing.” 

“ Now listen,” said Red. “ Darling’s made 
me a good offer, and you’ll laugh when you hear 
all of it.” 

“ Huh,” said Pen in a tone that was nearer 
tears than laughter. And then he played his 
highest trump. “ Red, what do you suppose 
Grace will say when she hears you went and left 
us in the lurch this way? ” 


FLYING CIRCUS 


211 


“Pen, you do wield a wicked hammer!” re¬ 
plied Red, grinning. “ You’ve hit your thumb 
again. Now, doggone it, listen, will you? First 
of all, the summer’s ahnost over; we’re due home 
in two or three weeks. Second, Skip can take 
charge of things in my absence. We’ve raked in 
considerable coin, and even after we’ve paid for 
the new tents we’ll have almost enough to build 
a bath-house with—plus the judge’s dollar for 
dollar of course. Nevertheless, you fellows go on 
and cover Smithersville, New Hickston and 
Greenfield. When you get to Greenfield stay 

there till Darling’s circus comes along-” 

“ Red, are you crazy? ” demanded Pen. 
“ What are you driving at? ” 

“ This,” replied Red. “ You know, fellows, 
that I like to do things in a large way. Well, 
while I was talking to Darling I saw a chance 
that I couldn’t resist. I made a proposition, and 
he agreed to it.” 

“ What was it? ” 

“ This,” replied Red. “ When we meet at 
Greenfield we’ll join forces and go direct to Twin 
Rapids. And here’s the way we’ll do it. Just 
picture a bright golden Saturday afternoon. 
Suddenly our old battle-scarred wagon comes up 


212 


RED GILBERTS 


over the hill. Behind comes the trailer, and be¬ 
hind that Darling’s long train of wagons strung 
out along the road. But, fellows, it isn’t Dar¬ 
ling’s Five Ring Circus at all; the whole outfit 
is Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus!” 

Red’s four companions were speechless. 

“ Of course,” Red continued, “ it’ll just be for 
the one afternoon. I wanted Darling to give me 
a week, but he wouldn’t. Just the same I’m sat¬ 
isfied.” 

“ How did you get him to consent? ” asked 
Paul in a weak voice. 

“ Well,” Red admitted, rather crestfallen, 
“ he’ll get most of the money. I told him the 
whole town would turn out—and they will! He 
wondered if he couldn’t boost his prices a bit, 
and I didn’t see any reason he couldn’t. He’s 
had a hard summer of it, and anyway he’s an up- 
and-coming sort of guy; he likes a new twist to 
things now and then.” 

Red’s companions began to look a little more 
hopeful, though they weren’t quite sure yet. 

“ You see,” continued Red, “ we’ll put on our 
little show just the same—our wind-up perform¬ 
ance at home—and we’ll advertise Darling’s 
whole outfit as a side show! ” 


213 


FLYING CIRCUS 

The eyes of Red’s companions were large and 
glassy. Pen looked at Paul, and Skip looked at 
Fred. “ Red,” said Skip, “ I always knew you 
had nerve, but I never suspected you had all the 
nerve in the world! ” 

Red grinned like a broker who has cornered 
the wheat market. “ Well, what do you think of 
the plan? ” he asked, smiling. 

“ Will it work? ” said Pen doubtfully. 

“ If it doesn’t,” replied Red, “ I’ll be the 
laughing stock of my home town.” 

“ And that,” replied Pen, “ includes Grace 
Overton! ” 

Red colored to the roots of his hair. For once 
Pen had missed his thumb and hit the nail. Grace 
may have cast her affections in the direction of 
Hector Skinner, but would Hec be able to hold 
them when Red breezed into town at the head 
of a circus so important that Darling’s famous 
five-ring affair was only a side show? Red 
thought not. 

Skip turned to Paul and Fred and Pen. 
“ Well, boys,” he said, “ I’ll admit I’m doubtful, 
but Red here, doggone his hide, has cast the die; 
it’s sink or swim for all of us, and I guess we’re 
pretty poor fish if we sink.” 


214 


RED GILBERTS 


“ We can’t sink,” said Red earnestly. “ We’re 
flying fish! ” 

And at that moment from the depths of the 
covered wagon came the muffled, uncertain voice 
of Tut: “ ’Rah for Red Gilbert! ” The parrot 
was talking in his sleep. 

The Flying Circus got its tents the next day 
and moved out of town the day following. Their 
going was in marked contrast with their arrival; 
all four of Red’s companions were gloomy and 
silent and doubtful. It seemed that in leaving 
Red behind, they were doing something very un¬ 
wise. But once clear of the town, Pen cheered 
up a bit; and as in all things there was a reason 
for it. 

“ Stop at this farmhouse, Skip,” he said. 

“ What for? ” asked Skip, leaning back on the 
lines. 

“ You’ll see,” replied Pen and climbed into the 
wagon. 

A few moments later he jumped out, carrying 
a covered basket, and ran to the back of the house 
with it. 

“ What’s Penny up to? ” asked Fred. 

“ He’s up to his eyes in trouble if he’s got what 
I think he has in that basket,” Paul replied. 


FLYING CIRCUS 215 

Just then Pen came round the house on the 
run. “ All right, fellows; let’s go! ” he shouted. 

Duke and Silverheels began to make horseshoe 
patterns in the dust, and in two minutes the 
wagon was out of sight of the house. 

“ Pen,” said Paul, “ what was in that basket 
and why? ” 

“ All four cats,” replied Pen, “ and I guess 
you know why well enough.” 

“ I thought so,” said Paul. “ Red’ll be sore.” 

“ Can’t help it,” replied Pen. “ I wasn’t go¬ 
ing to take any more chances. I hate cats! ” 

“ What did the farmer say? ” asked Skip. 

“ Nothing,” said Pen. “ I left ’em on the back 
doorstep, and then I came away from there! ” 

“ Well,” said Skip a while later, “ I’ll admit 
I feel a little better without those cats; they 
weren’t especially sociable.” 


CHAPTER XX 


By the time Darling’s Five Ring Circus joined 
forces with the boys’ show at Greenfield, Red had 
learned to bark well enough to merit a blue rib¬ 
bon. Moreover, he carried himself with even 
more of an air than usual; he was now a pro¬ 
fessional. Nevertheless, his heart was with his 
old outfit. 

After he had greeted his friends he said to Pen: 
“ Well, old man, how do we stand financially? ” 

Pen stood squarely on both feet so as to convey 
the proper impression. “ Our capital is first- 
rate,” he replied. “ Of course our outlay and ex¬ 
penses have been heavy, but as a result of our 
profits from that night at Dirksville and from 
several small performances on the way here we 
have on hand—we have on hand ” 

“ Yes,” said Red. “ I know where it is all 
right.” 

“ An estimated sum of—of two hundred and 
twenty-five good, sound, government-made iron 
soldiers.” 

Red looked relieved. “ Fine,” he said. “ And 
how are the animals? ” 


216 



RED GILBERT 


217 


“ All right. That is, all right except the four 
eats. They’re not with us any more, Red.” 

“ Oh! Well, I’m not surprised. I hope you 
didn’t strangle them, Pen.” 

“ Honest I didn’t! ” said Pen earnestly. “ I 
just couldn’t stand them, Red; so I gave them 
to a farmer, a kind-hearted fellow as far as I 
know.” 

Darling’s circus gave a small performance that 
afternoon, and the next day both outfits moved 
to Meeker’s Falls, the town just below Twin 
Rapids. The following day was Saturday, and 
at seven o’clock in the morning the two circuses, 
with the old spring wagon and trailer in the lead, 
took the road leading north. 

The noon whistles at Twin Rapids were cele¬ 
brating the liberation of the working man, when 
the Flying Circus appeared on the horizon. Red 
was driving, and his four companions were 
marching behind in a column of twos. A short 
distance behind the trailer marched Jumbo, the 
biggest elephant in the world; a Hindoo whose 
name was Flannagan was riding him. Then 
came a cinnamon bear led by an Italian named 
Cohen; then a pair of pocket ponies from Shet¬ 
land; then half a dozen big white horses ridden 


218 


RED GILBERTS 


by clowns. Those were the only animals that 
were “ allowed out all the others rode in cages 
mounted on trucks pulled by horses and mules. 
There were at least twenty animal wagons, and 
behind the bars of the cages snarled all the prin¬ 
cipal criminals of the animal world—lions, tigers, 
wolves, panthers, wildcats, catamounts and in 
fact all the members of the cat family except 
Erick, Fritz, Clarence and Whitey. There were 
strange birds too—birds that hopped and chat¬ 
tered, birds that flew and sang, birds that stood 
on one leg and made faces. 

Then came the baggage wagons heaped high 
with canvas, stakes, tent poles, benches, scenery 
and all sorts of odds and ends. Following them 
came strange high-covered wagons painted a 
gaudy red and smelling of meat and cheese and 
groceries; they held the grub. And bringing up 
the rear in a chugging little automobile rode Dar¬ 
ling himself and his ticket taker. 

There you are, Darling at the rear, Red at the 
front. What could be sweeter in a fellow’s own 
home town? 

Right through Twin Rapids Red led the gay 
procession while familiar faces stared and blinked 
and gulped. Yes, familiar faces everywhere! 


FLYING CIRCUS 219 

There were the two butchers and the grocery 
men; there was the bank president; there was old 
Judge Mudge, himself, standing on one corner 
—Red nodded and raised his whip, and the judge, 
after weighing the matter judicially, nodded in 
return. There was part of the bunch from the 
high school; there was Pen’s kid sister with her 
hair “ done up ”—my, how that girl has grown! 
But where was Grace? Red searched in vain for 
her. 

On the flat overlooking the river Red halted, 
and the flat became an active sector. To the 
merry tune of saw and hammer tents sprang up 
like mushrooms in your front lawn. Shouts and 
growls and strange exotic noises filled the air. 
White glistening canvas, gaudy, glistening 
wagons and cages, rippling, spanking pennants 
on long poles, men in bizarre costumes hurrying 
hither and thither, the smell of popcorn and pea¬ 
nuts, the odor of sawdust and paint and sweating 
animals, the creak of wheels, the uncertain blare 
of musical instruments! “ Father, give Willie 

a quarter. The circus has come to town! ” 

Meanwhile huge posters had appeared 
throughout the business and residential sections 
—posters that fairly screamed at you: “Red 


220 


RED GILBERTS 


Gilbert’s Flyi *g Circus! Special Feature: 
Darling’s Five Ring Side Show! ” 

By three o’clock everything was ready, and 
Red was walking on air. He had seen Grace, 
blue eyes, golden curls and all. It is true she 
was with Hector Skinner, but hadn’t she smiled 
at him? Hadn’t she waved her lily white hand? 
And there she was now, out in front of Darling’s 
biggest tent, in which Red had decided to give his 
little show. 

With his high hat at a difficult angle he stepped 
forward and slapped the canvas with his cane. 
“We’re here at last, ladies and gentlemen! 
Strange animals! Strange sights and sounds! 
You can’t afford to miss it! Positively, abso— 
gosh darn—lutely the finest, the biggest, the 
greatest, the most stupendous and awe-inspiring 
show on earth! Step right in and be convinced! ” 

And in they stepped, men, women and chil¬ 
dren in arms. Red personally escorted Grace to 
a seat and left Hector feeling in his pockets for 
the price of admission. Hard luck, Hec! Then 
Red guided the learned judge to a seat at Grace’s 
right. Oh, what could be sweeter in a fellow’s 
own home town! 

And then the fun began. The parrot did his 


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FLYING CIRCUS 221 

darndest. So did Mex and King Richard and 
the mice. Gloom looked his gloomiest, and Duke 
and Silverheels set a standard for Darling’s best. 
Creampuff and Vaseline were clowns for all they 
were worth. Skip’s voice was beautiful when he 
sang and convincing when he interpreted the fu¬ 
ture. Pen made sounds on his violin that set all 
the animals to jigging. And Red was several 
points beyond his best! How could he be other¬ 
wise with Grace Overton out there looking at 
him and nodding approval? 

In short Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus made a 
new record for altitude. Darling’s side show was 
good, but after all it was only a side show, and 
anyway, what is a mere professional circus com¬ 
pared with home talent? 

At six o’clock it was all over, and Darling’s 
men were preparing for an early start the next 
morning. Red and his companions were patting 
one another on the shoulders and, figuratively 
speaking, on the back. 

“Wasn’t it great!” cried Pen. “Oh, Red, 
wasn’t it great? ” 

“ You said it! ” replied Red. 

“ Oh, boy! ” cried the others. 

And just then across the flat came four cats. 


222 


RED GILBERTS 


Erick, Fritz, Clarence and Whitey! But this 
time they weren't in step. They were thin and 
tired-looking, and their feet were dirty and 
swollen. 

“ Well,” said Red, “ here come the Musketeers 
and Whitey! You can’t very well lose a cat.” 

“ Ho hum,” said Pen. “ I should worry now. 
The show’s over! ” 

“ Skip, get some condensed milk for them,” 
said Red. “Poor things! What a long walk 
they must have had! ” 

“ Well, Redfield,” said Judge Mudge several 
days later, “ it looks as if you had succeeded. 
How much did you earn? ” 

“ Three hundred and six dollars and five cents, 
sir,” replied Red promptly and offered the judge 
a check for the amount of the loan. 

“ Hum,” said Mr. Mudge, putting the check 
into his pocket and reaching for his check book. 
“ Dollar for dollar; I’m a man of my word.” 

“ That makes six hundred and twelve dollars 
and ten cents then,” replied Red. “ I think we 
can have a red tile roof on our bath-house.” 

The same afternoon Red was walking with 
Grace down by the river. “ This is where we’ll 
build it,” he said. 


FLYING CIRCUS 223 

“Oh, won’t that be nice!” said Grace. “I 
like a boy who does things in a big way—like you, 
Red. Can you come to supper to-morrow? 
Papa’s home from China and wants to meet 
you.” 

“ I’ll be there with my own napkin! ” replied 
Red. “ Say, Grace,” he added, without meaning 
to be especially pious, “ why didn’t you write to 
me all summer? ” 

“ Red, you silly boy,” said Grace in the tone 
that all men like, “ how could I possibly write to 
you when you never put your address on any of 
your letters? ” 

Red swallowed hard. For one of the few 
times in his life he was without an answer. 

“ Silly boy,” repeated Grace, “ but just the 
same I like you.” 

“ As well as Hector Skinner, the Tripe King’s 
son?” 

Being a girl, and a pretty one, Grace turned 
her head. Then at last she said, “ I guess maybe 
a little.” But she said it in a way that meant a 
lot—and perhaps some day the lot will have a 
house on it. 

That’s the end of Red Gilbert’s Flying Circus. 
It had been a great summer for Red and his 


224 RED GILBERT 

companions, even though poor Pen did flunk his 
bookkeeping examination after all. 


THE END 









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